


Knee Socks

by isidoranaya



Category: Original Work
Genre: Brother/Sister Incest, Choking, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Sex, F/M, Family Drama, Family Feels, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Light BDSM, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Romance, Semi-Public Sex, Sex Toys, Shameless Smut, Sibling Bonding, Sibling Incest, Sibling Love, Smut, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-10
Updated: 2020-02-10
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:15:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 22,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22648495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isidoranaya/pseuds/isidoranaya
Summary: Teenage twins unexpectedly find themselves in a turmoil of desire and feelings for each other.
Relationships: Original Female Character/Original Male Character
Comments: 9
Kudos: 61





	1. Chapter 1

Andrew can't believe his luck as he pushes the bathroom door open to find a dark green knee sock lying on the floor. Sarah must have left it there without noticing after a shower. 

It's not like he can't snatch one of his twin sister's knee socks from the laundry basket right beside the door of her bedroom, but the consequences of being caught in the act, by none other than Sarah herself, are too unthinkable for him to carry out the plan. Discretion on which he prides himself can indeed be a double-edged sword, Andrew thinks sullenly. Or is he just a coward? 

It's not his fault, anyway. It's not his fault that the volcanic temper of his twin sister and his own shyness put much strain on their relationship, making his fantasies about her as preposterous and repulsive as he feels his entire existence to be. It's not his fault that his face burns, pulse quickens and heart races up every time he catches sight of the smooth, creamy skin on her slender legs between her uniform skirt and those delicious knee socks. He has come so hard and so many times into his hands just by imagining his cum staining her neat school uniform as she twists her legs and moans beneath him, staring up at him with big, glazed blue eyes, her blond hair fuzzy as a bird's nest. As if that was going to happen. 

Andrew's brain whirrs frantically in a rush of heat and panic. Breaking the trance and lurching into the bathroom only after a good long while, he slams the door shut behind him and presses his back against it, his heart hammering, eyes fixed upon Sarah's knee sock on the floor, bewitched. His mouth feels very dry. Stepping up and picking up the knee sock, he balls and stuffs it into his pocket with trembling hands and gets done with his peeing business as quickly as his hardened cock allows. As he opens the door and dashes out of the bathroom without looking up, he finds himself colliding headlong with Sarah. Gracefully petite and slender, she is dressed in pajamas, her frizzy blond hair down, apparently ready for bed. 

"What the fuck - Andrew! Watch where the fuck you're going!" 

"Sorry-I'm sorry-" 

"For fuck's sake!" 

Storming past him with a scowl, Sarah slams the bathroom door shut behind her, muttering a string of curses. For a straight-A student, Sarah has an incredibly filthy mouth with her brother. What filthy words would she be muttering while he fingers her? God, he is _so_ hard. He can't wait to go back to his bed and masturbate to the treasure in his pocket. It feels so scalding that it's as if it would burn a hole through his skin. 

Flinging his bedroom door shut behind him, Andrew climbs onto his bed, takes out his sister's knee sock from the pocket and undoes his trousers. Wrapping the knee sock around his cock as hard as a rock, he begins to pump it up and down, panting heavily, his eyes rolling back into his skull as electrifying arousal courses through him. It's Sarah again in his mind's eyes, her school uniform disheveled, white lacy bra visible under her unbuttoned white cotton shirt, and she is touching herself for him, her magnificent legs in knee socks splayed, fingers moving frantically around her clit, moaning and squirming, calling out his name- 

Andrew comes harder than he can remember. His vision blurs as hot spurts of cum shoot out of his cock and splash across the bedsheet, his stomach and Sarah's knee sock, the shockwaves of orgasm sending tingly spasms through his body. After what feels like eternity, he sits up slowly, shivering, staring down blankly at the stained knee sock still wrapped around his cock. 

This is, so, fucked up. 

* * *

"Dad, have you seen my knee sock somewhere? I lost a dark green one for school. Can't find it anywhere." 

Perched on the kitchen island one morning a few days later, Sarah turns her head around and frowns at their father Daniel, who is seated on the sofa in the living room watching the morning news. While waiting for a reply, she picks up a grape from the crystal bowl on the island and puts it casually into her mouth. Seated opposite her, Andrew steals a peek at his sister, his face burning at the sight of Sarah's little tongue toying with the fruit, pink, soft and swift. He buries his face in the cereal bowl in front of him, pretending he isn't there. 

"No sweetheart, haven't seen anything. Have you checked the bathroom?" 

Apparently engrossed in a report about a triple highway accident, Daniel answers absently, his eyes fixed on the TV screen. 

"Let's face it, you've never learned to be organized," their mother Olivia says flatly, gazing at her reflection in the full-length mirror beside the main entrance for a last check before work. A successful senior manager at an accounting firm, she is dressed in an imposing navy suit, her hair pulled back into a tight ponytail, "being smart doesn't entitle you to being untidy though." 

"I'm not smart, I'm just hard-working," Sarah says haughtily, straightening up, "anyway, only narrow-minded people focus on trivialities like whether the color of their eyeshadows goes with that of their lipstick." 

"When you've reached my age, sweetheart," Olivia leans closer to the mirror and dabs carefully at one corner of her eye with the tip of one finger, "you'll stop laughing at appearances." 

"Thank you for your support for feminism, you of all people," Sarah snorts. 

Satisfied with the final effect, Olivia turns around to face her daughter. 

"Well, I'm very glad to tell you that I've spoken with Mrs. Willington, Sarah," Olivia is trying hard to squeeze out a smile in the face of her daughter's belligerence. Mrs. Willington has been Sarah's math competition tutor for two years, "and she really thinks your university application is going to be a huge success." 

"My daughter's got perfect marks all right," Daniel interjects, still a bit absently, "all the way straight to the most selective faculty of math in the country-" 

"Perfect marks aren't enough, as I've already said a thousand times," Sarah interrupts coldly, "they'll look at your application holistically. Besides, if weren't for your wandering around doing God knows what, I'd have already been in university now instead of high school at nineteen-" Olivia took two positions abroad a few years back, and the twins went to local public schools whose different curriculum made academic equivalency difficult and themselves older than their cohort after they came back. 

"Your dad just wants to give you a compliment. Are you really so bent on making everyone around you miserable?" Olivia's face darkens, her voice rising. Mother and daughter are rarely on amiable terms. 

"Oh really? I'm sure there're other more useful things he can do," Sarah says sharply, clearly referring to Daniel's status as a househusband. Olivia clears her throat, but says nothing. Daniel still fixes his eyes upon the TV, as if unaware of whatever is happening in the kitchen. Without a reply from the parents to continue the fight, Sarah suddenly turns to Andrew. 

"Are you finished? We're going to miss the damned bus again if you keep wasting time like this." 

"Sarah," Olivia says slowly and sternly, as if giving an ultimatum, "leave your brother alone." 

Sarah ignores her, tapping her fingers impatiently on the surface of the kitchen island. Andrew pushes the empty bowl aside, standing up, his head cast down. 

"Let's go," he murmurs. So much for being the dumbest in the family, he thinks bitterly. No presentable marks or extracurricular to speak of, not a clue what to do with himself, awkward around guys and girls alike. So dumb that Sarah doesn't even deign to attack him as she does their parents. And here he is, wanking off to his own sister like a pervert in a cheesy porny novella. Well done, Andrew. You've scored a perfect mark in being pathetic.

* * *

You can be abysmally paranoid about getting caught even in an empty classroom in an empty building after school. Or perhaps this is exactly what makes it so exquisite.

"What did you say?"

Gabriel is walking slowly around the desk to which Sarah's wrists and ankles are tied, a ruler in his hand. He is tall and muscular, his tanned skin and black hair giving him an exotic air. Sarah lies half-naked, her hardened pink nipples poking out from partly undone bras and quivering in the air, her plaid skirt bunched up to her lower stomach, thighs parted, pink slit glistening with wetness. Trembling, she wriggles and squirms, little begging noises escaping her gagged mouth.

"Nod if you want to speak," Gabriel says calmly, stroking himself as he walks. He is fully dressed except for the unzipped zipper of his trousers, through which his cock, thick, red and hard, stands erect. Sarah nods frantically, feeling drips of her arousal trickling down her thighs. She is so on edge, so much needs to be fucked right now. Gabriel has been playing with her nipples and slit for twenty solid minutes by now, spanking, kneading, twisting, pinching, licking, suckling and squeezing, chuckling at her moans and wails and begging. God. She wants to bite his head off. They're in the same year at school, and have been fucking for the last three months, starting from Gabriel's eighteenth birthday. It's he who has awakened the submissive self in her that she never knew existed before. Rumors have it that he's involved in some pretty hardcore BDSM circles, and Sarah guesses he's just showing her some fringe stuff for her to get a taste of it. She doesn't have much time or energy for it now, anyway. School is getting too stressful.

Taking the gag off her mouth, Gabriel lands another spank with the ruler on her tits, making her shudder. Coughing and panting, Sarah murmurs something indistinct to Gabriel's ears.

"What did you say?"

"I want you to fuck me."

"Ask nicely," another hard spank on her tits. Sarah squeezes her eyes shut.

"Please...please fuck me, Gabriel," Sarah tries to turn her face away out of shame, but Gabriel grabs her chin with one hand and forces her to look up into his eyes.

"Look at me, pet. Good, much better now. Do you want to come?"

"Yes," a quiet sob. She doesn't think she can take it any longer.

"I want you to do one thing for me, Sarah," Gabriel says slowly, as if mulling over his word choice, "think hard. Tell me the one thing you've always wanted most deep down inside. Tell me honestly. I can give it to you, you know I can," he is rubbing the tip of his cock against her sodden slit as he speaks, the heat and the hardness of it infinitely close yet infinitely unreachable, making her whimper and writhe in desperation. She suddenly becomes very aware of the sloppy sound of her wetness clearly audible in the silent air of the empty classroom.

Oh, God. She wants to cry out of the maddening need to be fucked. But this is out of the question. Not now, not like this.

"Hey, Sarah," Gabriel coaxes, "you know you can trust me."

Sarah swallows, biting hard down on her bottom lip, trying to concentrate. Gabriel's right. She can trust him. They've only been friends with benefits, it's true, but she likes the way he cares about her as a friend and how she can forget about school for a while with him. And she really needs to get fucked. Hard. Right now.

"I want my brother to fuck me."

She whispers quietly, suddenly feeling very vulnerable. But before she can say anything else, Gabriel thrusts his cock forcefully into her cunt, and she hisses and whimpers from the heady fullness of it, her eyes closed shut.

"Does it feel good, pet?"

"Yes, yes," her head thrown back at the sudden pleasure of being filled up to the hilt, her breath much more labored, Sarah rocks her hips instinctively in time to Gabriel's thrusts for more, "oh God, it feels so good-"

"So fucking tight," Gabriel murmurs, stroking her naked thighs, his head lowered to watch her cunt grip his cock as he fucks her, "Sarah, you're so wet. Really want your brother's cock in your cunt, don't you?"

Her wrists and ankles are burning from the friction against the cords tying her to the desk, but she's too far gone for this. Her eyes still closed shut, she starts to replace Gabriel's black hair with Andrew's chestnut curls in her mind, imagining the muscled, stocky build of Gabriel to be the leaner yet solid frame of her brother. The thick cock that is stretching her and filling her, hitting on that sweet spot inside her over and over again, and the fingers that are now massaging and circling her bulging clit in time to the powerful thrusts are no longer those of the boy of her year, but-

"Come for your brother now, Sarah," Gabriel whispers gently, "come for me."

She comes crying out Andrew's name, her muscles jerking and spasming, orgasm blooming like firecrackers inside her as she sobs and wails. It just feels so right to imagine her brother inside her, giving her the pleasure only he can give, releasing the tension that's been building inside her for too long in a way only he is capable of. It feels familiar. It feels safe. It feels like he'd always be there for her no matter what she says or does, however hurtful it is. She suddenly feels very bad, selfish, cruel and stupid. She suddenly wants to cry.

Having sensed the shift in her mood, Gabriel pauses, panting.

"Are you OK, Sarah?"

Opening her eyes, she sees Gabriel's face hovering over her, concerned. A warm wave of gratefulness washes over her.

"Yeah, it's OK. Sorry."

"Do you want to continue?"

"You haven't come, have you?"

"It's alright, I don't need to. Thanks though."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be silly."

Gabriel pulls out of her, zips up his zippers and starts to untie her. Sarah slides off the desk, shivering, dragging the panties at her ankles back up, straightening her crumpled skirt, pulling her bras back down and buttoning her shirt. Her legs feel weak.

"Gonna tell me what happened? I've something to tell you later, actually. Let's trade."

Sarah picks up her backpack at the feet of the desk. It's already dark outside, little sparkling lights twinkling in the distance.

"Don't you think it's weird?" Sarah asks a bit nervously, embarrassed. Gabriel picks up his backpack, laughing. He stops as soon as he catches Sarah's eyes.

"Sorry, I'm not laughing at you. It's just funny, after all the wild shit you've watched people doing, there's a girl who's afraid you'd think incest kink is weird."

"The rumors are true then."

Gabriel shrugs. "Who cares?"

They leave the empty classroom and are now heading down the dark hallway towards the staircase.

"I just don't think this is what really concerns you," Gabriel says after a short pause.

"What do you mean?"

"You scared me a bit back there. Looked like you were going to cry."

Sarah says nothing. Her face is burning.

"I've never met your brother, by the way. Andrew, right? Nice name."

"Yeah. He's in the same year as us."

This conversation is so weird on all levels imaginable, Sarah thinks. In a different context though, everything would have sounded normal.

"Ah, the little chap with chestnut hair, a bit shy? I saw you one day at the bus stop with him."

"Yeah, that's right."

Another silence ensues. They've exited the building and are now heading for the bus stop, from where they'll take different buses home.

"What's about him? You don't have to tell me if you don't want to."

"I was..." Sarah tries to muster up her courage. Gabriel has been nice to her, and she needs someone to talk to, "I was just-just being stupid. I've been kinda mean to him."

"All siblings are mean to each other. Sometimes I just want to throw my brother out of the window. Or strangle him. Whichever is faster."

"It's different. He's just this really shy kid, alright? People have been calling him names. My parents expect a lot from me but not from him. You know what I mean?"

"Hum. But you like him?"

Sarah feels her heart skip a beat.

"I don't know what you mean. I love him as my family. I don't know, it's weird."

"I guess you'll figure it out. Why not talk to him?" Gabriel looks like he really means it. They've reached the bus stop and sit down on the bench, shivering a little in the cold wind. Sarah rolls her eyes.

"Hello? Andrew, I fantasize about you fucking me?"

"Well, that's the message all right, but with different wording," Gabriel laughs again. Sarah finds herself liking him more and more. Neither of them wants to be in a relationship with the other though. Perhaps it's a good thing, after all.

"Do you think he likes you? Sorry, I mean, do you think he wants to fuck you?"

Sarah laughs first this time, albeit a bit tensely.

"One of my knee socks went missing," she admits after some thought.

Gabriel blows a whistle, "kinky."

"I don't know -- I don't know if it's just fallen into some gap in the bathroom or something. It's not like I can confront him about it, right?"

"Why not? Here's my tip. Just search the house as thoroughly as you can. If you can't find it anywhere, confront him about it. Tell him you know it's him who's stolen it. I guarantee you, if it's him, you can be one hundred percent sure of it."

"How do you know?" Sarah asks, genuinely curious and excited.

"Kids like him can't lie," Gabriel says briefly. Sarah wonders whether he often lies.

For a moment neither of them speaks.

"Well, here's what I've got to tell you," Gabriel breaks the silence, "I've probably got a girlfriend. Sort of. It's not official yet, cause we're still undecided about it."

"Oh...congrats!" Sarah knows he's got other friends of benefits, but not that he's particularly close to any one of them.

"Thanks. Not that we can't fuck anymore, we both like sex too much to be fucking one person only. It's just I'm not gonna be as available as before. She's got friends, I've got friends, we both go to the same meetings, stuff like that. But just text me whenever you feel like it and we'll see."

"Sure. Thanks for letting me know."

"No problem. Here's my bus," Gabriel stands up as the bus approaches, its glaring headlight dazzling in the dense night. He hops onto the bus and turns around, beaming at her before the door closes. "Talk to Andrew! See ya!"

Sarah watches the bus draw away, her heart beating fast in her chest.

"Talk to Andrew." She murmurs to herself.


	2. Chapter 2

It's raining.

The History teacher doesn't seem to grasp the notion that people have busy lives, and by the time the class is dismissed belatedly again, it's already dark and raining heavily outside. Unprepared for such a vicious turn of weather, Andrew reaches home sodden and shivering. Their mother is most likely going to arrive home late again, caught up in either her interminable work or traffic jam, and their father is presently doing something noisy that involves drilling in the basement.

Flinging the door of his bedroom open, still thinking about getting rid of his wet clothes as soon as possible, Andrew is entirely caught off guard by the figure sitting on his bed.

"Andrew, we need to talk."

"What are you doing here, Sarah?"

His face is heating up, fast. The association between Sarah and his bed is too dangerous, and the beginning of this conversation too ominous. The light of his room is not turned on, and he can barely make out the expression on her face. Sarah is dressed in her immaculate white cotton shirt and plaid skirt, her pretty legs dangling from the edge of his bed. Only one of her calves has a knee sock on.

"Andrew, you've been very bad."

"What-what are you talking about? What are you doing in my room?"

He is stammering. Oh no, Andrew. You're fighting a battle you're bound to lose.

"I know you stole my knee sock, didn't you? Why did you do it?"

"I don't know what you're talking about. I'm going to take a shower, it's-it's raining outside."

His panic is so bad he can't stay in the same room with Sarah anymore. He has to run away. Turning around to flee to the bathroom, he hears Sarah slide off the bed and stride out of the room up to him, grabbing his arm with striking force disproportionate to her petite frame.

"Sarah -- let me go!"

Sarah flips the hallway light switch on, hardening her grip on his arm. It hurts. She is gazing at him with dark, unfathomable eyes, her face stern. On a pretty little face with baby fat like hers, such an expression can come off as surprisingly menacing.

"Look at me in the eye, Andrew Larrison. Did you do it?"

This is entirely unexpected. Andrew has no idea what has given him away. For the last week, ever since he got his hands on her precious knee sock, he's been masturbating to it like crazy non-stop, only washing it furtively when he is absolutely certain no one would walk in on him. He doesn't know he's going to keep going at it for how long. How the hell does Sarah know about it?

He thinks he's going to have a breakdown and lie down and die.

Having probably sensed his anxiety, Sarah loosens her grip on his arm, her expression a notch softer.

"Andrew, it's not a big deal, I just want to know what happened to my knee sock. Did you take it?"

Andrew sniffs, biting down on his bottom lip. He peeks at Sarah fearfully, averting his eyes immediately as they meet hers. He knows now. He knows that she knows what he did. The expression on her face has told him everything. She must think he's such a pathetic, disgusting perv-

"Do you masturbate thinking of me? Perhaps my legs? Do you want to touch them?"

Oh God, it can't be.

Andrew lets out a small groan and forcefully turns away, trying to rid himself of her grip. But Sarah is faster than he is. Stepping up and pressing her soft body against his, blocking his way, she leans in, her lips dangerously close to his.

Stunned, Andrew stares up at her, his mouth agape. His twin sister is certainly attractive, her angelic blue eyes, pointed nose and plump pink lips giving her a curiously childish air. He wants to flee away from her and do bad things to her in equal measure.

"Do you, Andrew?"

"...Yes."

This is not him speaking. Some devil must have possessed him. He can't be admitting this to his- 

"And why did you do it? Please, Andrew, I want to hear it from you."

"I...I think you're pretty," his brain is a helpless blank. He can smell her familiar scent, coconut or vanilla or something sweet and heady. This is bad. This is really bad.

"And?"

"And..." Andrew swallows. He is getting incredibly hard, "and-"

"Do you want to fuck me?"

He thinks he is going to faint. Without another word, Sarah slowly takes one hand of his and pulls it up, guiding it to around her neck. His cock literally twitches at the contact. She must be feeling it pressed against her thighs.

"I'll take it as a yes," her voice is slow and sweet, "Andrew, this is what we're going to do. You'll play a game with me. You'll learn the rules and we'll see if you can do it right. If you do it right, I'll let you fuck me."

"What...what game?" This is unreal. It can't be happening.

"I want you to be really, really bad to me."

As her voice lowers to a whisper and her grip on his hand around her neck tightens, something strange happens to Sarah's face. It's as if she had been entranced, her eyes staring up at him a bit blank and glazed over, her lips parted, quivering slightly with each shallow breath, an unnatural deep flush spreading across her cheeks. A tingling realization like lightning strikes through him. She is getting off because he is choking her. He is choking his own sister and she gets so high on it that she is going to come.

"Hey, kids, hungry already? Burgundy beef tonight!"

They jump apart instantly as if hit by an electric current. It takes them a few seconds to realize that their father Daniel is not climbing up the stairs, but shouting up at them from the ground floor.

"Alright, Dad! Coming down in a minute!" Sarah shouts back in a barely even voice, her chest heaving. Andrew moves faster than Sarah does this time, diving into the bathroom and bolting the door behind him.

He must come. Now.

* * *

So, the "talk to Andrew" part has gone slightly differently from what she had in mind.

It's late at night. Sarah lies on the bed in the darkness of her room, half-naked, her eyes closed, her head lolling on the pillow as she slides her buzzing toy in and out of her drenched cunt while massaging her hardened clit. It took her four months to save up enough allowance money for it, but it's worth every penny. Her toes curled up, her head thrown back, she lets out a trembling sigh as orgasm explodes inside her, bringing Andrew's face to her mind again.

She didn't mean to scare or intimidate him. She feels sorry for how distressed he looked at being forced to admit something like that, even though his confession gratified her immensely. But Andrew just does this to her. She is too used to always getting whatever she wants from him, too horny, and too impatient to have a proper conversation with him.

It doesn't mean she shouldn't.

But what the hell happened to her when she made him choke her? Why was she so aroused by it that she almost got off on it, right there in the hallway? She doesn't even do this often with Gabriel. She doesn't know what she was thinking. Does she really think Andrew, shy, introverted and awkward, is actually capable of dominating her?

A thrilling realization dawns on her: she is doing this precisely because she wants to awaken that part of him, for her. She wants to make her brother hers. She is one hundred percent sure that Andrew is still a virgin, knowing that he has never had the courage to talk to a girl for more than five minutes. No wonder he is so obsessed with her.

But they really need to talk.

Fishing out her phone from under her pillow, she clicks open the conversation with Andrew and taps out a message quickly.

'Wanna talk?'

It takes her five minutes to receive a reply. Poor Andrew. He must be really anxious now.

'About what?'

'I want to apologize.'

This time, she doesn't wait long for a reply.

'Apologize for what?'

'Can I come to your room? I want to do it in person.'

Another excruciating five minutes. Sarah is not a patient girl.

'Be quiet.'

Sarah heaves a relieved sigh. Slinking off her bed and across the room, deliberately sliding one strip of her nightgown off her shoulder, she opens the door of her bedroom as quietly as she can, closes it behind her and walks on tiptop to before Andrew's room. The door is slightly ajar. She pushes it wider and sneaks inside, closing the door carefully behind her.

Turned away from her, Andrew is lying on his bed under his covers, as if asleep. Sarah walks slowly up to his bed and sits down on the edge, her bare feet hovering inches off the floor. The rain has stopped, the night deep and serene, the quiet occasionally stirred by a car sliding by outside the window.

"Are you alright?" Sarah whispers. Slowly turning around, Andrew peers up at her, his eyes big and dark.

"Yeah. I guess."

"I'm sorry," Sarah says sincerely. She notices the way Andrew's eyes slide automatically to her naked shoulder and the curve of her body underneath her thin nightgown. She has to admit she's doing it on purpose.

"Sorry for what?"

"I've just been...really rude to you."

Andrew doesn't answer for a while. He draws his eyes away from her.

"It's alright. It's just you."

"Are you saying I can get away with being a shitty person?"

"If you think so. I don't know. You're my sister. That you're shitty or not doesn't change that. You're not...you're not shitty."

A huge wave of relief and warmth comes over her. It's silly, really, to be this grateful for something as ordinary as an assurance that he doesn't hate her, when she's been either ignoring him or cursing him.

"What if I say I can try to be nicer to you? I don't like being shitty to people. It's just...you know, so much stress from school. Mom and Dad can't shut up about my marks and university application."

Andrew shifts under his covers. It looks like he's about to sit up, but then decides against it. Sarah notices he is rolling up his legs for her not to see the tent between his legs.

"I know," Andrew answers after a while, "I can understand."

"I don't know, sometimes I envy you. You don't have to deal with their expectations."

"Because they've accepted that I'm a disappointment, I guess."

The bitterness in his tone makes her want to hold him into her arms.

"Fuck them. You don't have to be what they want you to be. Dad's spent his entire life doing nothing but cooking hellish dishes and emptying Mom's credit card, so who is he to judge."

A smile surfaces slowly on Andrew's face. It makes her smile, too.

"I don't know what I want to be."

"I don't know either. I'm just good at something, so I suppose I should do it."

Silence ensues. Sarah stretches her legs, yawning.

"I'm cold." She murmurs. Andrew says nothing. She can feel he doesn't want her to leave.

"You're being rude to me."

"How so?"

"I said I'm cold but you're saying or doing nothing."

"I'm-sorry, just didn't think-"

"I'm messing with you," Sarah can't help smiling as Andrew flushes. He is adorable. Why was she being such a jerk to him?

"You can say 'come under my covers', for starters," she nudges.

"Alright," Andrew murmurs, "come under my covers."

Sarah climbs onto his bed and slides under his covers. A gentle smell of detergent and something soft and warm known to her only as his envelops her. Her skin is cold against the waves of heat emanating from his body so close to hers.

"Did we really..." Andrew says after a short silence, "did we really-"

"Yeah, we did."

Another pause.

"I don't know what's wrong with me."

"Nothing's wrong with you. I don't think anything's wrong with me, anyway."

She reaches out one hand slowly to find his, squeezing it gently.

"Why do you have to think there's something wrong with you?"

Andrew shrugs. "It's just...people don't do it."

"It doesn't make it wrong."

Andrew moves so quickly and so abruptly that for a moment she is stunned. In the blink of an eye his body, hot, heavy and strong, is already above hers, his solid chest pressing down on her breasts, his hands locking her wrists onto the bed on either side of her head, his hard cock pressed tightly against her lower stomach. He is so big. Sarah can feel his hot, moist and erratic breath on her neck. Not being a sportive type but having a teenage boy's naturally developed muscles, Andrew is perfectly what she needs. She is soaking wet.

"God," Andrew's voice is trembling, and he is panting heavily as if he had just run a race. She can't see his face in the darkness under the covers, "oh God..."

"It's OK, Andrew," Sarah whispers, swallowing hard, "it's OK."

"I should be bad to you."

"You definitely should."

"Very bad."

"Very."

"You'll tell me when to stop, won't you?"

"Promise."

His hands move away from her wrists, up to her neck and tighten around it, slowly at first, almost frantically towards the end. She is once again perfectly pinned down by the neck, the familiar rush of thrill at being so helpless jolting through her as she pants and wheezes, squirming and writhing under him, her fingers tugging feebly at his strong hands, her legs thrashing blindly about. Andrew starts to grind his hip rhythmically against her, his breath as ragged and raspy as hers, his cock rock-hard and burning hot. She wants it inside her, now. But she knows they can't. Not this time.

Abruptly Andrew freezes, and she feels it, the string of his hot cum shooting out from his cock into his boxers under his pajama pants. Gasping and panting, his chest heaving up and down, he stays there for one solid minute before flopping down sideways onto the bed, releasing her neck from his grip, doubling over with his back to her and moaning quietly.

"Oh God, Sarah," he moans, "Oh God-"

"I have to go," Sarah murmurs, still dazed, sliding off his bed almost automatically, "it's late. See you tomorrow morning."

With that, she leaves and returns to her room, careful not to make any noise. Her panties are so wet that she can feel the fabric glued to her entire slit. Having made herself come at least three times with her toy and fingers, she sinks into vivid dreams about Andrew, his hands around her neck, his cock rubbing against her overstimulated clit.

* * *

"You know there's a new cheese shop at the market? They've got some French cheese and country pâté. We can make a charcuterie board this weekend, what do you think, darling?"

Daniel comments excitedly next morning at the breakfast table in his bathrobes, standing up to hand a plate of fresh pineapple rings over to his wife. Olivia takes two to her plate, smiling up at him.

"Whatever you say, darling. Andrew, don't make that slurping noise when you drink your milk, please."

"Alright, Mom."

"Sarah, you're late."

Sarah emerges into the kitchen, looking a bit worse for wear. She mumbles something indistinct about alarm clock and insomnia, slumping down onto the chair opposite Olivia with a huff.

"Are you alright sweetheart?" Daniel asks concernedly, sitting back down onto his chair after having returned from the kitchen with a new carton of milk.

"Very good," Sarah murmurs, her face blank, her eyes unfocused, "fantastic."

Jerking her head up, she turns to Andrew.

"Can you pass the ham to me please?"

Andrew obliges hurriedly, almost knocking over his glass of milk in the process. His face is deep red.

"In a good mood today, aren't we, sweetheart?" Daniel smiles at his daughter.

Sarah rolls her eyes, "whatever."

"Good to know that you've learned some manners after all," Olivia remarks.

"As if. I'm going to be home late today, math's training session."

"Me too."

Three pairs of eyes turn to Andrew, whose face is still the color of lobster.

Olivia widens her eyes. "Do tell," her son is the typical quiet, introverted teen who's never in trouble but who doesn't seem to be doing anything interesting either. Good to know that he's now involved in some extracurricular activities.

"Um, it's lame, really. The photography club is having an info session, so I wanna take a look at it."

"Lovely! I knew he's got some artistic streak about him. Must be from my dad, God bless him," Daniel exclaims, clearly satisfied.

"That's fantastic. Tell us about it today at dinner, will you?"

"Yeah. I'll try to."

"That's great news," Sarah says suddenly, throwing a piece of ham into her mouth, "I'd love to hear about it too."

Olivia and Daniel exchange a quick glance while Andrew keeps his head down.

"She's in a great mood today, isn't she?" Daniel grins at Sarah, very pleased with himself, "it's all because of my almighty breakfast buffet."

"Oh Dad, please."

Andrew raises his head and catches Sarah smiling at him. He smiles back.

The pineapple on his tongue today tastes sweeter than usual.


	3. Chapter 3

Coming against Sarah's warm, soft body in the dark with his hands firmly around her neck and her helpless mewling in his ears has been the most heavenly sensation Andrew has ever experienced in his rather uneventful life. Especially when she is his fucking sister.

Granted, Sarah has always been a self-absorbed, willful child. As one of the smartest and the most accomplished in her cohort since elementary school, she certainly feels justified in being so. Were it not for the effort of Olivia, whose equally strong character makes her the only person in the family with any power over her, Sarah could have literally turned their household upside down.

Perhaps this is exactly why the feeling of having his bratty sister entirely at his mercy made him come within minutes.

Andrew has been masturbating at an alarmingly short interval throughout the next day at school, but at the end of the day, his cock still hardens instantly at the memory of last night's wild adventure. He's just got a taste of it for five minutes and now he's an addict for life. His desire for her is so powerful that he's afraid of what he'd do to Sarah the next time he's got his hands on her. Afraid of how far she'd let him go.

She wasn't disgusted. She didn't despise him. She reciprocated his desire for her, albeit in her own unconventional way. She even apologized to him for her attitude and behavior. Andrew knows his sister isn't a genuinely arrogant or selfish person, but is only so focused on her demanding life that too often she comes off as one unawares. Her apology has proven that. It makes him feel happy, grateful and proud in a way he's never experienced before. He wants to make her happy, too. He wants to make her come.

This game of hers, he shall play. And this time, he's going to turn the tables on her.

It's with this dreamy, arousing feeling that he arrives at the photography club's info session held in the assembly hall after school, his head giddy, his cock still half-hard, the scene of last night repeatedly replaying in his mind. Sarah's right. That people don't do it doesn't make it wrong. He can feel she wants it too, as feverishly as he does. They're not hurting anyone. They don't have to answer to anyone.

"Hello? Can I help you?"

Startled, Andrew raises his head to find a girl smiling at him. It's as if he had just realized where he is. The assembly hall has been redecorated for the occasion, magnified photographs strung across the hall, clusters of students ambling along them engrossed in quiet contemplation or hushed conversations. Standing behind a low table on which colorful brochures and leaflets are displayed, her light brown eyes friendly and welcoming, the girl who has just spoken to him is wearing a pair of black-rimmed glasses, her brown hair pulled back into a ponytail. A name card "Carla" is pinned to her gray cardigan. Apparently, he has been standing there before her stand for too long, spacing out and smiling to himself like an idiot. Too bad that Max told him he wasn't interested, or he could have come with him and made him look less like a joke. Probably Andrew's only friend, Max lost his parents to an accident when he was an infant. Raised by his eccentric grandparents, he is bullied unrelentingly at school for being gay and chubby.

"Hi, Carla," Andrew nods, embarrassed.

"Hi! What's your name?" Her tone is chirpy, but not in an annoying way.

"Andrew. I'm in grade twelve."

"Good! Interested in joining the photography club?"

"Eh...I don't know. I've been taking some photos with my dad's camera, and quite like it. But I'm sure they're pretty bad."

"Oh, don't say that. I'm sure they've got their charm. What're your photos about?"

"Animals. Trees. Just boring stuff really. Sometimes riverbanks, streets, or clouds." Andrew's face is burning again. It feels stupid just to say it.

"I love taking photos of the streets too. I once got up at five o'clock in the morning just to take photos of a coffee shop at a street corner near home. People started coming and going, hot coffee in their hands, the vapor rising from the cups and their nose...the neon lights, the tiled sidewalk, the menu blackboard..." Carla says dreamily, smiling. Andrew can't help noticing how pretty her smile is. "I'm sorry, I digress again, haha," Carla shakes her head apologetically, "in hindsight, the photos I took were awful, but I loved what I saw, you know? Just gave you a moment to be there, watching."

"Yeah." Andrew doesn't even realize he's smiling.

"So, what about you? Where do you normally go?"

"Regent park, when there aren't many people around. My dad's family lives in the countryside, so when we go there for summer holidays or Christmas, I'd take photos of farm animals." He peeks at Carla timidly, but is relieved to find her nodding at him encouragingly.

"That's lovely! Speaking of animals, look, we're holding a competition open to the whole school called 'galloping'," Carla picks up a leaflet from the table and hands it over to Andrew, "weird name, isn't it!? You'd think we'd only accept photographs of horses, but no. Look at the requirement, it says 'we want to see works that show vitality and vigor'. It doesn't even have to be animals. You can set a countdown to take a selfie of yourself jumping up in the air, I suppose," Carla giggles, "I'm sure we'll receive a lot of submissions like that."

Andrew turns the leaflet around, skimming through the content, smiling. It feels so good to have someone talk to him at length about something he enjoys too, and in such a friendly, kind way. He now regrets not having done something to know more about the photography club until now.

"What's your camera?"

"Well, actually it's a really old model. My dad bought it three years ago..."

On and on they talk, from cameras to photographers to their favorite sites and the photos they're most proud of. Andrew comes to know that Carla is in the same year as he is, wants to study History of Arts next year in university and loves marshmallow dipped in hot chocolate, because they've been talking about photos they've taken of food. This is perhaps the longest conversation he's had with a girl in years. In a good way.

"Andrew!"

A familiar voice calls out to him from across the hall. Startled in mid-sentence, Andrew turns his head around to find Sarah trotting up to him, her frizzy, dense blond hair cascading down her shoulders ruffled, her cheeks flushing, the first buttons of her shirt unbuttoned. The scene of last night flashes up in his mind unbidden, and Andrew is appalled to feel his cock hardening all over again. Turning around in a desperate attempt to hide his boner from his new acquaintance, Andrew stares down at Sarah, who has stopped before him, panting slightly.

"It's a bit early, isn't it?" Andrew says, feeling stupid. He can't say "I loved coming against you" right now, apparently.

"Oh, I got the exercises done early. Mrs. Willington said I could leave."

"As always."

"No, this time they were too easy. I don't think they're up to the competition standard, so I asked her to send me some more difficult ones for tonight. Are you done here?"

Although Andrew is used to his sister's domineering tone, there's something unusual in her voice and her glistening eyes that is making his cock harder. He swallows.

"Yeah, I guess."

Twisting only his upper body around so that Carla won't notice his raging hard-on, Andrew smiles at her self-consciously, raising the leaflet in his hand.

"Um, thank you so much. I'd better go. I'll check the competition out."

"You're welcome!" Carla flashes him a warm smile, "hope to see your submission!"

Andrew's heart hammers in his chest as he follows Sarah and exits the hall, making their way towards the main entrance.

"Who is she?"

"Just a girl from the photography club. Told me about a competition."

Sarah says nothing. As they turn into an empty corridor, she suddenly turns around, grabbing the lapel of his shirt and starting to drag him along.

"Sarah?-"

Unmoved by his confusion, Sarah flings a narrow ventilation door on her left side open and throws themselves into what seems like a closet, slamming the door shut behind them.

"Sarah -- what are you doing!"

"Shh!"

Andrew finds themselves locked in the cramped, dark space of a storage room for cleaning utensils, Sarah's petite frame pressed against him, her familiar sweet scent filling his nostrils. Strands of LED lights from the corridor fall unevenly into the damp little room that smells of ashes and disinfectant.

"You're crazy -- they'll find us! They're doing the cleaning after school! There're security cameras!"

"I'm not wearing panties."

Oh, God.

All rational thoughts vanish in an instant from Andrew's brain. As Sarah wriggles against him, moaning and panting into his neck, it takes him far too long to realize what she is doing. Her right hand is unmistakably drawing little circles around her clit, and her left hand is unbuttoning the remaining buttons of her crinkled shirt, exposing her white lacy bra and naked stomach. Gasping, Andrew throws both hands unconsciously up in the air out of pure shock, his cock painfully hard.

"I've been very bad, Andrew," she purrs, "you have to punish me."

"...What-?"

"I've been touching myself all day thinking of you, of your cock," another soft moan, "I shouldn't do that. I should have begged you first. Asked for your permission."

This is an entirely new dimension. A few more seconds like this, and he's sure he's going to come into his boxers again.

"What...? How...?"

Get a grip, Andrew. You can do this. You have to. Grinding his teeth, he forces himself to calm down. Just calm enough to think for a second. This is their game. He's got this.

"Please Andrew," the way Sarah is making little noises as she touches herself is driving him crazy. Her plump little tits have been pulled free from her bra, and are now pressed tightly against his chest, "touch me."

As his trembling hands grab hold of Sarah's soft tits, she lets out a little moan and starts to rub her clit more violently, her delicious hips grinding against his hard cock. "More," she begs, tightening her fingers on his around her naked tits, "hurt me."

Something inside Andrew snaps. It's only with a little surprised yelp from Sarah that he realizes he has turned her around and bent her over, both of her hands having to hold onto the opposite wall for her to stay on her feet. Flinging her uniform skirt up, he feels as if he had been dealt a heavy blow on the head. She is entirely naked from waist to knees, her pink, puffy wetness glistening in the dim light from the corridor outside, her slender thighs and calves in knee socks twisted together.

"Please," Sarah squeaks, "please-"

"Oh," Andrew pants, "oh, God."

She wails as Andrew thrusts three fingers all at once into her dripping cunt out of pure instinct, bending over across her back and reaching out the other hand to twist and pinch her hardened nipples, his entire body trembling. She is so tight. He starts to pick up a steady rhyme, sliding his fingers in and out of her warm, tight walls, groaning from frustration as his hard cock strains against the crotch of his trousers. Sarah moans and jiggles beneath him, rocking her hips against his fingers for more friction.

"Andrew," she looks over her shoulder back at him as he fingers her, colors high in her cheeks, her eyes pleading, "please, I want to touch myself."

"Touch yourself, Sarah," he can't believe he is sliding into the role so readily and easily. Even his voice sounds alien to himself, "I want you to come."

With a deep sigh, she reaches one hand down and starts to rub her clit again in time to the thrusts of his fingers, her noise growing dangerously louder, her naked hips swinging and twisting before him in the most sensual form he's ever seen. From being a virgin who'd never held a girl's hand to doing what he's doing right now to his own sister in one week, he must have been blessed or cursed by some unfathomable design of fate.

Andrew's mind is a jumbled, sludgy mess. They're hidden in a shabby cleaning closet at school doing unspeakable things forbidden to siblings. They're making a lot of noise. They're going to get caught. And here he is, fingering his half-naked sister and playing with her nipples, bent on getting her off, his cock rock-hard in his trousers.

He feels it as it hits her, the sudden tightening and contracting of her cunt around his fingers and a warm gush of liquid trickling down his wrist. Sarah's entire body stiffens, one hand flying up to cover her own mouth to no avail as he can still hear her broken little whimpers, her legs twitching and wobbling, threatening to give way. It astonishes him that no one seems to have heard them or at least shown signs. Blood roaring in his ears, Andrew straightens up slowly, his mind entirely blank.

What has he just done?

Panting, turning around, Sarah slides down slowly against the wall onto the floor, staring up at him with widened eyes. Taking a trembling step back until his back is pressed against the rickety door, his eyes moving between Sarah and his drenched hand back and forth, Andrew finally lets out a groan, turning around and flinging the door open, fleeing the scene like a hunted fugitive.

* * *

"Andrew! Andrew!"

A lead ball hangs in the pit of her stomach as Sarah rushes across the school's front yard after Andrew, who is scurrying away towards the school's front gate as if on the run, his head bent down. The day's classes ended, the campus is now dark and quiet, save for a few scattered lights in the main building that indicate some unfinished extracurricular activities.

She can still feel the soaking wetness between her legs and the lingering heat of such a core-shattering orgasm coiling in her lower stomach. Her brother has made her come with his fingers in a way she has never dreamt of before. But she is so scared. Scared that she has somehow hurt him, crossed a line, and that now she's lost him forever. She has reasons to believe so. Swallowing hard, panting heavily from the rushing and anxiety, she finally catches up with Andrew at the bus stop outside the school's front gate where they'll take the bus home. The street is dark and deserted, almost all students and school staff having gone home.

"Andrew!"

He finally turns around to stare down at her as she stops beside him and tugs at his sleeve, his face pale, his hair disheveled. Sarah can't help noticing his boner still hasn't gone away.

"Talk to me, please," Sarah pleads, feeling a sudden urge to cry. Having probably sensed her distress, Andrew leans down and presses a kiss onto the top of her head, but says nothing. Closing the distance between them, she stretches out her arms and holds him tight, closing her eyes and listening to his powerful, steady heartbeat. He holds her back, pressing another kiss onto her hair.

"Are you mad at me?"

"...No."

"Why did you run away?"

Taking a step back and staring up at him, Sarah is surprised to find his eyebrows knitted in a deep furrow, fear and agitation written across his face.

"This is pure madness. I can't be doing this to you. What if we get caught? What if Mom and Dad find out? I-"

"Is this what you're worried about? Getting caught?"

Andrew stares at her, his mouth agape.

"We won't," Sarah says firmly, her hand tightening on his arm, "we're smarter than that."

"No! I mean, obviously, but are you -- are you really...?"

"Don't assume I'm a fucking victim, Andrew Larrison," anger flares up inside her, "I'm an adult and so are you, and we can make our fucking decisions, however bad they are."

For a moment Andrew says nothing. He slumps down onto the bench of the bus stop, burying his face in his hands. Sarah follows him and sits down beside him, her heart thumping in her chest.

"So, this is what it is -- a bad decision." Andrew murmurs.

"I don't know! I don't care! I just want you, I loved it when you made me come. Is that a crime now?"

"Technically it can be."

"Fuck that shit!" Sarah shouts, enraged like a caged beast.

"I just don't know how to deal with this. I've never been with any girl before, and all of a sudden, I'm fingering my sister. Am I going to have a normal relationship? How am I supposed to tell my future girlfriend about it?" Andrew is raising his voice, which she has almost never seen him do before.

Sarah's heart sinks. She suddenly finds it hard to breathe. Not having heard a reply from her, Andrew glances down at her, and seems surprised to find tears streaking down her cheeks, which she is trying to keep him from seeing by turning her face away.

"Sarah-"

"Don't!"

She pushes him away forcefully, doubling over and burying her face in her hands, sobbing quietly, her shoulder blades trembling. She can't do this. But she doesn't find it in her to push Andrew away again either when his arm, warm and strong, holds her shoulders and pulls her towards him.

"Don't cry, please," he sounds helpless, "please don't cry. I don't like seeing you cry."

Sarah feels like the biggest asshole in the country. The most selfish, depraved, disgusting-

"We can make this work," she hears Andrew murmur, still a bit timorously, "we can make this work. Right now, you don't have a boyfriend and I don't have a girlfriend. We'll talk when things change, right?" he swallows, "and... and I like what we've been doing. I don't want to stop it. I know it sounds selfish but-"

"You'd be the biggest idiot in the world to want to stop it," Sarah raises her head up from her hands, twisting her body around to face him, sniffing, "and I'm not saying this because I'm a narcissist."

Andrew smiles down at her. "You're not. You're...you're just so pretty. I know boys like you, I hear them talk about you. Maybe I'm a jerk, but it makes me feel proud that now you're doing this with me, and I...I'm just..." he is stammering again, looking away, his face flushing pink.

He is beautiful, Sarah realizes. They don't resemble each other very much as siblings, one having chestnut curls, brown eyes and their father's tall stature, the other petite with frizzy blonde hair and their mother's blue eyes. One with their mother's temper and ambition, the other their father's introversion and accommodating nature. She realizes for the first time how perfect they would be for each other, if it weren't for their blood relation and her negligence and pride. If she had just made a bit more effort to be nice to him...

They used to be close, Sarah recalls with a pang in her heart. Hanging out together in the playground every day after school, inventing adventures on Andrew's dog-eared exercise books, sharing comic books, video games and crumbled chocolate biscuits. Staying up late at night watching Indiana Jones with Dad because Mom was too busy at work. Then middle school came, her excellent marks suddenly making the burden on her shoulders grow tenfold. Expectations from teachers, parents, herself. While Andrew was still Andrew, the shy, ordinary, unremarkable kid. They just grew apart. She just pushed him away.

"Do you remember Katherine from middle school you had a crush on but never got to talk to?"

Andrew's cheeks flush deeper. "Yeah, why?"

"I remember I was wondering, what the hell, she looks a lot like me."

Andrew's face is burning now. Such affection for him is swelling up inside her that she is almost tearing up.

"Well...yeah, I mean-"

"And I was teasing you about it all the time. Such an asshole I was. I was secretly hoping that it was the case though. So vain." And I've been touching myself thinking of you. I imagine my fingers to be yours. I imagine other boys to be you. I never told you this before because I was afraid. I still am, but just a bit less so now that you're here. And I'm sorry I was being so rude to you just because I thought I could.

"I've always wanted you," Andrew suddenly turns his body around to face her, his eyes boring into hers. He is so close to her that she can smell his unique scent again, warm, safe and familiar, "I love you because you're my family. And I want you so much all the time. Back there in the closet, it's the best feeling I've had in my life. Just touching you, pleasuring you. I don't know, this is so much. This is crazy. I don't know if I can handle it. You're supposed to be normal, like, hanging out more with girls or bringing a girlfriend home or that kind of things. I don't know if it's just society's expectations or what I really want. I don't know anymore. I only know I want you."

Sarah stares up at him, taken aback. She would never have expected such a long, candid confession from Andrew. His breath is fast and shallow, his eyes, big and limpid, glistening in the dim light and gazing deeply into hers. She doesn't know since when his hand has been holding hers, their fingers entwined. Closing her eyes slowly, she leans in, uncaring that acquaintances from school could be passing by. Uncaring of anything.

The kiss feels unreal. His lips are warm and tender, kissing her gently and gingerly, as if afraid of startling her, scaring her away, so far away that he'd lose her forever. She wants to tell him not to worry. She isn't going anywhere. She is staying with him, wherever that is. Fuck the world. It's them against it.

"I love you," she murmurs as they break the kiss.

"I-I love you too," as if nonplussed by her kiss, he turns his eyes away again timidly.

"And I love it more when you make me come."

Laughing out loud at his burning face, Sarah gives a peck on his cheek.

"Where did you..."

"What?"

"All the stuff you said about hurting you..."

Sarah grins, "I think you enjoyed it very much, didn't you?"

Andrew tries to turn his head away, but Sarah cups his cheeks into her hands and forces him to face her, "tell me the truth, Andrew Larrison."

"Alright," he murmurs, "I liked it."

"You don't mind learning more?"

"I can try."

"Very good," Sarah smiles. They're going to have a lot of fun, "I'll pass you some links. Watch and learn."

Andrew doesn't answer for a while.

"Is it normal that I feel jealous?"

"Of whom?"

"Of the boys who taught you all this stuff."

"They're just friends," Sarah shrugs, "you don't have to be in a relationship to fuck, you know."

"Right," Andrew lowers his head, "so..."

"I don't know, Andrew." Sarah muses, "I've never wanted a boyfriend. I just wanted sex. A boyfriend would be too much of a distraction now that I've got so much on my plate. University application's deadline is close and I want to concentrate on it. It..." she pauses, "it feels good, safe, to be around you. You know?"

Andrew gives her hand a gentle squeeze. "I know," he says quietly.

The bus approaches and they both look up like deer caught in the headlights, as if shocked to find that a real world exists outside of their own secret one. As Andrew lets go of her hand and starts to grope for his monthly pass in his pocket, Sarah's heart sinks just a tiny little bit. Climbing onto the bus after him and sitting down beside him at the empty rear of the bus, she leans in, taking hold of his hand again. He doesn't let go this time. Wordlessly, he bends down, presses another kiss onto her hair and straightens up, as the bus pulls away from the stop, lumbering into the deepening night.


	4. Chapter 4

'Have u seen this???'

Having finished the night's homework assignments in her room, Sarah grabs up her phone from her desk as it buzzes, reading the message from her friend Melissa, smiling. Melissa has sent her a snapshot of the new member of the school's indoor track and field team, Percival Morse, taken during the latest training session at the local university's training center. Dark-haired and olive-skinned with mesmerizing emerald eyes, he was doing a final round of warm-up on the photo, his chiseled face serious, his arms stretched out and feet planted squarely apart, the wiry muscles on his limbs cast into sharp relief by the spotlight. Who on earth would name their kid Percival Morse, especially a smoking hot one?

'Did u get a chance to slap his ass, Saz. Don't lie.'

'Nah, too busy getting busted by the coach. Couldn't get up the next morning. Competition's coming up soon.'

'Who cares. Suck his dick in the changing room next time plz.'

'Got one on my plate.'

'Gabriel? Kinky whore.'

Sarah smiles, typing out her reply slowly this time, curling up in her chair and resting her chin on her knees.

'Nope.'

'WHO IS IT'

'Not gonna tell ya'

'Saz, ur making a big mistake by not telling me. I'm gonna FIND OUT'

'Good luck with that. Gotta go.'

Sarah glances at the time on the screen. Half-past eight, perfect. She's still got some exercises to do for the upcoming math competition, but has decided to make the most of Mom and Dad's weekly date night, on which they usually return at some point around midnight. A firm believer that time management is an essential skill for success, an idea instilled in her by her mother, Sarah is used to having everything planned out beforehand. Clicking open the chat with Andrew, she chuckles at the last links she sent to him over the last few days.

'How to kiss a girl sexually'

'How to give head to her'

'How to finger your girl'

'Sex positions DEMONSTRATED'

'All you need to know about orgasm control'

'Bondage positions that put you in charge'

'Choking done right'

It makes her face burn just to imagine the expression on Andrew's face while he watches these videos. Even though he doesn't, she is going to make sure he learns all he needs to learn.

'Can I come to your room later?'

She types out the message to Andrew quickly, her heart racing. Having sent out the message, she opens and closes the apps on her phone absently, impatient for a reply.

'Sure.'

Sarah takes a deep breath. Getting up from her chair, keeping the lights in her room turned on just to keep her parents from getting suspicious in case they decide to come home early as she usually stays up late studying, Sarah grabs a clean set of school uniform with knee socks but without underwear and heads for the bathroom. She spends the next twenty minutes carefully scrubbing, washing and shaving herself, applying her coconut moisturizer onto her face before putting on her clothes, scrutinizing herself in the mirror, uncharacteristically self-conscious. With rosy cheeks and glistening blue eyes full of anticipation, she looks like a girl about to go on the first date ever in her life. So, this is what they call butterflies in the stomach, she thinks, blushing. Wiping her wet blond hair hastily with a dry towel and throwing the dirty clothes into the laundry basket beside the door of her room, she closes the door behind her and walks up to before Andrew's room across the hallway, knocking on the door gently. Her palms are sweating a bit.

"Can I come in?"

"Yeah."

Poking her head into his room, she is surrounded by his familiar smell. Only his desk lamp is on. Andrew is sitting before his desk with his back to her, his shoulders hunched. He isn't turning around to meet her. Entering his room and locking the door behind her, she approaches him gingerly, her heartbeat loud in her ears. The room is clean and tidy, almost generic except for its dark blue walls, without garish posters of rock bands on the walls or dirty clothes strewn about typical of other teenage boys. She notices that the curtains have been drawn. A few albums of photography are arranged in alphabetic order on his shelves, followed by comics, fictions and books on journalism. Sarah suddenly realizes that she doesn't even know what electives Andrew is taking, or what he is interested in majoring in university.

"What are you doing?"

Sitting onto his desk and staring down at him, Sarah asks in a feigned casual tone. For a girl with some sexual experience, she feels as nervous as if she had never kissed a boy before.

"Just...some assignment for English. Had to finish this passage. It's done, I think." Andrew murmurs, a flush on his face, still not meeting her eyes. He is dressed in his navy-blue short-sleeve shirt and gray baggy trousers, his feet bare, having taken a shower and got changed upon returning from school. Tall and lean, his chestnut hair tousled, he looks unexpectedly handsome in the warm lamplight. His features certainly resemble those of their father when he was young. Sarah once got a peek at a family album at Christmas at their grandmother's in the countryside.

"What's it about?"

"Well, the usual you've done too, I'm sure. You have to pick a poem and do an analysis. A passage at least. I picked 'Wasteland'. 'I will show you fear in a handful of dust'. I think it's beautiful."

He finally raises his head and meets her eyes. Your eyes are more beautiful than the poem, she wants to tell him. Honey, amber, caramel, chestnut, hazel, walnut, depending on the light and his mood and the angle from which he peeks at her. She never understood why people say brown eyes are boring.

Sarah can't tell it's he or she who is moving faster. Her face is cradled between his palms, her fingers entangled in his hair, and the kiss on her lips feels entirely different from anything she has ever experienced before. Alongside the all-encompassing desire igniting all the way down to her core, there's also something inexplicably tender and intimate, like the fire crackling in the living room on a frosty, sleety winter night. Something warm and safe and familiar.

He deepens the kiss, one hand stroking her cheek as she closes her eyes and holds his neck in her arms, feeling his soft tongue sliding gently into her mouth, touching and intertwining with hers. Moaning at the heavenly sensation of it, her eyes closed shut, her body twisting as heat and wetness grow sharply between her legs, Sarah grabs a handful of his chestnut curls and aggressively bites down on his lips, making him frown and grunt. Breaking the kiss, panting slightly, Andrew gazes up at her, his hands still cupping her cheeks, touching his forehead to hers.

"You're really bad, aren't you?"

Sarah presses the tip of one finger to his nose, smiling. She could die for the warmth shimmering in his eyes.

"You have to punish me."

With a little cry, she finds herself scooped up by the hips, and the next second she is thrown down onto his bed on her back, her nostrils filled with his familiar scent. Andrew hovers above her on all fours, his knees on either side of her hips, the tip of his tongue making the slightest contact with her earlobe, making her shudder. She tries to cradle his face into her palms again, but he grabs her wrists and pins them down roughly above her head with one hand, the fingers of the other hand drawing little circles across her fine collarbones. His eyes are peering deeply down into hers, big and dark from desire. They look like gemstones from a remote star.

"You're a very quick learner, Andrew Larrison."

"Compliment taken, Sarah Larrison."

Her heart is beating furiously in her chest in a way she has never experienced before. None of the boys she has messed around with has ever awakened in her the same feeling washing over her right now. She can't believe this is the Andrew she grew up with and thinks she knows as thoroughly as can be, the shy boy who doesn't dare look at people in the eye. Looking down and evading his eyes partly because the intensity of eye contact with him suddenly seems too much to bear, she takes a trembling breath, curling up one leg and touching his hardened cock playfully with her knee, grinning as he groans.

"Kiss me," she whispers.

He bites down hard on her lips this time, making her gasp, the sharp pain sparkling through her kindling another wave of heat that spreads out from her lower stomach like a raging flame. Letting go of her wrists, panting, Andrew lifts up his torso, turning around to grab the tie of his uniform flung across the back of his chair. Her breath caught in her throat, her heart beating frantically in anticipation, Sarah is nonetheless surprised to find his face serious and intense as he gazes back down at her, his fingers clutching hard at the tie.

"I can't do this to you," Andrew says quietly, gesturing towards their groins a bit awkwardly, and she recognizes the diffidence in him again, "I looked it up. It's illegal. We could go to jail."

It takes Sarah several seconds to understand what he means. They can't have intercourse. Or so says the law.

Fuck the law.

But she's not going to argue with him about this right now. Staring up at him, her chest heaving, she nods.

"There're a lot of things we can do."

She trembles as he reaches down again and slowly ties her wrists to the metal bars at the head of his bed, his breath warm on her neck. After he's done, he gives the knot a few tugs to make sure it's tight and firm as she watches, amazed. Shivering at the cold of the air and his touch as his fingers unbutton her shirt, exposing her breasts and caressing her naked skin, she turns her head around and closes her eyes, breathing harshly through her mouth. The wetness between her legs has now become ridiculously insufferable.

"You're beautiful," she hears him murmur.

She moans as his tongue wraps around her hardened nipple, licking and nibbling at it with just the right pressure to turn her into a wriggling, squirming, boneless mess. Hushing her gently as if to soothe her, Andrew reaches one hand down to between her thighs while keeping on playing with her sensitive nipples with his warm, nimble tongue, only to make her grow more aroused and agitated. She hisses at the sudden intrusion of his fingers into her soaked slit, and her hips start to rock up and down instinctively, begging for more. How can he possibly learn so much in just a few days?

Cracking her eyes open and gazing down at him as if spellbound, Sarah can't help realizing how beautiful he is. His face flushed, his eyes gleaming with desire and fixed upon the naked skin on her flat stomach as his mouth wanders south, the lean muscles on his arm flexing in the soft light as he fingers her, he looks familiar and strange to her all at once. Emitting an insuppressible moan and arching her back as he bunches up her skirt and touches the tip of his tongue to that of her bulging clit, she jerks her hips abruptly, only to be held down firmly by his hands. Whimpering, she bites down hard on her bottom lip, desperate for more of that glorious sensation.

"Do you want me to continue?" Andrew whispers, his voice husky, staring up at her in the eye as if to see through her soul, his eyes dark as if bottomless, his chin hovering inches above her naked mound. A loose strand of his chestnut hair dangles across his left eyebrow.

"Yes," she murmurs, transfixed by the sheer beauty before her eyes.

"Beg me."

It's as if these two words had ignited all the blood in her veins. Never breaking eye contact with her, he presses a gentle, too gentle kiss onto her protruding pelvis. She has never seen him like this before.

"Please, Andrew," she hears herself moan, "I want you to make me come with your mouth."

The sensation from her slit makes her melt in pure ecstasy. His swift tongue licking, suckling, swiping, swirling, drawing little circles on and around her sensitive bundle of nerves, he continues to move his fingers in and out of her, crooking them slightly upward to hit repeatedly on that sweet, sensitive spot inside her, making her moan and shudder and beg and writhe in a crazed frenzy. She is making some broken, inarticulate noises she doesn't recognize as hers, her tied wrists rocking helplessly against the metal bars. The overwhelming tension inside her rises higher and higher as he keeps on working her, his fingers and tongue insistent and untired, and she squeezes her eyes shut, imagining the sensation of her brother's cock stretching and filling her from behind instead of his fingers, of him coming hard inside her and moaning into her ears-

She cries out hard as she comes, the sheer force of it wiping her entire mind, entire being blank. Andrew continues moving his fingers in and out of her until the peak of her orgasm has passed and her wails quietened down, his tongue giving gentle, long strokes to across her swollen slit to soothe her. Finally letting go of her, he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, sits up and crawls back up, hovering above her again.

"Was it...was it good?"

Without a word, she wraps her legs around his waist and pulls him down, her mouth searching eagerly his as her wrists are still tied up and cannot hold him. Andrew smiles, a bit shyly again, and kisses her gently. She can taste herself on his lips.

"You'll be the death of me, Andrew Larrison."

Her heart thumps like crazy in her chest as he presses one kiss after another onto her forehead while untying her. No one has ever done this to her. Not even Gabriel. Grabbing his shoulders with her now freed hands and pushing him down onto the bed on his back, Sarah sits up and straddles him, cupping his face into her hands and starting to shower him with kisses.

"It's impossible. Where did you learn this?" She mumbles between kisses.

Andrew shrugs, unable to hide the smile on his face. He suddenly looks very boyish, his eyes brimming with tenderness. A strange feeling swells up inside her, the same she had that day at the bus stop outside the school when she first kissed him, the one that made and is making her heart shudder in bliss so overwhelming that it threatens to burst her chest open.

"Don't know. Just watched the videos you sent me."

"Liar."

"If you say so."

"This is a really bad answer, you ought to know."

"What should I have said instead?"

Sarah's heart sinks.

"You've been with a girl before?"

"I told you, never."

He is staring up at her with innocent eyes, and looks a bit afraid that she's angry. She reaches out one hand to stroke his hair, twirling one curl of his around her finger, feeling very selfish.

"Perhaps this is just something I'm good at. Perhaps it's just you," he says quietly, his eyes cast down. She kisses his eyebrow.

"Is this normal?" She murmurs as if to herself.

"What?"

Sarah presses a kiss onto one corner of his mouth.

"This."

Andrew grabs her hand and kisses it gently.

"I don't know. Does it matter?"

She pauses and ponders.

"No."

She presses another kiss onto his lips and reaches one hand down to stroke his hard cock, applying increasing pressure. Gasping at her movements, he closes his eyes shut, his fingers tightening on her waist. Grinding her hips against his cock through his trousers as he groans and twists under her, she flings his shirt up and starts to leave a string of kisses down his naked torso while crawling gradually down on her knees and elbows, until her chin is hovering above his hardened shaft.

Looking up, she finds Andrew is covering his eyes with his arm, his face turned away.

"Andrew, Andrew," she coos, caressing his thighs, "look at me."

It takes her a few more pleas for him to finally meet her eyes. Peering down at her, his face flushed crimson, he looks incredibly exposed and vulnerable. It makes her want to hold him into her arms and never let go.

"It's OK," Sarah keeps on caressing him, unable to contain herself. It feels so strange and different from everything she knew that it's almost frightening in its intensity, "I just want to make you happy."

"You are," he replies quietly, his lips quivering.

Pulling his hard, veiny cock free from his trousers, Sarah gives a few gentle licks to its bulging head as she strokes it, sensing immediately how violently he is trembling under her and how hard he is trying to contain his moans. His fingers tightening in her hair so much that her scalp hurts, Andrew breathes heavily through his mouth, hissing now and then through gritted teeth. As she takes it entirely into her mouth, he emits a long, deep sigh and spasms a little, his slender body twisting underneath her. His moans grow louder as she starts to bob her head up and down along his shaft, her tongue licking and swirling, using the back of her mouth to suck gently its head. Sensing the unusually violent convulsions of his body and the loudness of his ragged breath, she lifts her eyes up to look at him. A deep flush spreading across his face contorted in pleasure, his eyes squeezed shut, the muscles on his naked torso strained and clearly defined, his hair disheveled from the uncontrollable thrashing of his head against the pillow, he looks so beautiful that she feels like her breath is being taken away. She has never experienced such elation before, the pure bliss of being able to give so much to him. She wants him to come. She wants everything from him and for him.

"Sarah," he breathes, "I can't -- I have to --"

Without answering, she pumps her mouth up and down around his cock faster and harder, sensing it swell and harden further as she goes on. With a deep grunt and a series of sudden jerks of his hips, he comes into her mouth, and she takes it all, swallowing the warm, salty spurts of his cum down her throat as the spasms of his body gradually subside. Pulling his cock slowly out of her mouth and licking the remaining cum on it clean, Sarah swallows hard, trying to wash the taste of sperm in her mouth down with her saliva. Looking up, she finds Andrew staring at her in pure wonder, and can't help chuckling.

"There's...water on the desk," he says self-consciously, turning his eyes away, sitting up a bit from the bed and placing a pillow under his waist, pointing to a plastic bottle on his desk, "if you want to."

"Thanks."

Taking a few gulps to wash that taste down, she puts the bottle back down on the desk and flops down onto the bed beside him, snuggling up against him and leaning her head on his shoulder. Andrew strokes her hair absently, pressing a kiss onto her forehead. Her hair has gone back to being frizzy, having dried up after the shower. She doesn't feel they need to talk. She only feels tired, and wants to fall asleep against him.

"Do you feel cold?" Sarah hears him ask her in a gentle voice.

"A bit, yeah."

Andrew spreads his covers over themselves, tugging her in carefully. It feels warm and safe like a cocoon, his body a steady source of warmth. Many random things spring to her mind unbidden, their grandparents' house in the countryside, their late grandfather who used to read them poetry when they were little in the sunlit living room on summer afternoons that smelled like dandelions and ripe peaches. The breeze through her hair as she and Andrew frolicked about in the front garden full of white roses as pure as moonlight. They ate sandwiches and fresh fruit cakes under the knotty old willow tree, and if she raised up her head, she could see its snowy fluffs swirling and fluttering down through the moist air to land gently on little Andrew's blond hair. She doesn't know whether she is dreaming. She only feels safe in the darkness with him by her side.

"Sarah," someone is calling her. She doesn't want to wake up, "Sarah."

A gentle nudge on her shoulder. "Sarah. They're back."

"What? Who?" She mumbles, dazed. She doesn't know where she is. A warm hand covers her mouth hurriedly to shush her.

"Shh. Mom and Dad. The light is still on in your room."

Sarah blinks. Rubbing her bleary eyes, she sits up slowly on Andrew's bed. He is on his feet before his bed, his face turned in her direction. She can't make out the expression on his face in the dark.

"I don't want to go," she flops back down onto the bed, curling up under his covers and closing her eyes, "come back in, Andrew."

"I have to turn off the light in your room," he whispers, a bit anxious. The sound of running water is coming from the bathroom. Olivia and Daniel must be washing before bed, "I don't know if they've tried to check in on you. I hope not."

"I don't want to go," Sarah murmurs, repeating herself like a willful child. Andrew leans down and presses a kiss onto her hair.

"I'll turn it off once they're done."

Sarah drifts off again.

She wakes up when Andrew is sliding under the covers next to her. The house has been plunged into total silence and darkness, only the street lamps outside the window of his room casting a faint glow on the floor through the opaque curtains. Reaching out one hand instinctively in search of his, her mind still groggy, she finds herself enfolded in his arms, his breath gentle and warm against her neck, his heartbeat steady in sync with hers.

"Sleep, Sarah," he whispers, "you're tired."

She sinks into a dreamless slumber.


	5. Chapter 5

Andrew wakes up too disoriented for his memories of last night to seem real. And the dreamlike quality of Sarah's warm, soft body nestled safely in his arms isn't helping either. The curves of their bodies fit so perfectly that it's as if they were made for each other this way, as if they were meant to stay like this forever: their legs entwined, their steady breath in the air interwoven, her petite frame spooned by his large one, one of his arms draping over her small waist and clasped to her breasts. It's all too good to be true.

As he fumbles for his phone under his pillow to check the time, Sarah lets out some small, inarticulate noises from the limbo between wakefulness and dreamy oblivion, stirring and shifting a bit in his arms, her hips rubbing against his hard cock. She is practically naked, her shirt unbuttoned all the way down and her skirt bunched up around her waist, the only thing that separates his achingly erect cock from her defenseless slit the thin layers of fabric of his trousers and boxers.

He is so fucking hard.

A blurry glance at the phone screen tells him it's six o'clock in the morning, nearly one hour before when he usually gets up, as confirmed by the total darkness outside the window. It must be because they both fell asleep too early last night. Vaguely remembering with dread that he has an exam in Philosophy today and hoping for some more rest, Andrew finds himself unable to drift back off to sleep no matter how hard he tries.

All he can think about is last night. Well, it's not like he actually thinks about it; it lodges itself inside his brain, pushing, shoving and cramming it full until there's no space for anything else. He would have been frightened if it didn't feel so good, and so unbelievably right.

Andrew doesn't know what it means and he doesn't want to. All he wants is her. Her frizzy blond hair on his pillow that she tries to tame and smoothen to no avail and that he is too shy to tell her he loves just as it is, her sweet scent that is so magically distinct from the pungent artificial smell of cosmetics of other girls only because it's hers, her gorgeous body that he had such power over and gave such pleasure to that he's sure it will always astound him that he actually did. There's no room left in his mind for the loose ends they left last night, or the cold, hostile big world looming out there that could easily tear apart everything they have between them. Just her. Sarah.

As it turns out, it's a very, very bad idea to allow his memory of last night to run wild with a naked Sarah pressed tightly against him. The more he remembers the view and the sensation of his cock wrapped in Sarah's pretty cherry-red lips and her warm, tight mouth, and those dovelike blue eyes of hers that gazed straight into his as she sucked him, the more unable he finds himself to contain the urge to rub his cock rhythmically against her naked hips. And it's only with Sarah's soft moans and the slight twisting of her body that he realizes what he's doing.

Andrew freezes, his heart thudding wildly in his chest. He can't allow himself to be an asshole who takes advantage of her while she is asleep, no matter how sure he is she would consent were she conscious. But before guilt can take shape, his mind is wiped clean by Sarah's slowly but surely taking his hand and pulling it across her naked front down to between her thighs, her fingers guiding his as he starts to tease and rub her clit. It is only then that he realizes she is dripping wet.

"Touch me, Andrew," she murmurs dreamily, "make me come."

He doesn't need her to say it a second time. There's something in him that has been changed forever by last night, and he knows that with certainty that still feels too raw and tremendous in its immediate aftermath. The ability to give and receive pleasure, to be as close as humanly possible, to peer into her eyes as she comes for him and cries out his name. It makes him almost feel like a grown-up. A man. And he wants to keep doing this to her, to keep producing the same effect on her over and over again, until - his mind grows hazy - until they cease to exist.

But all of this is really too much to process when she is gasping and squirming against him as his fingers find the right pressure on her swollen clit, kneading it in a circling motion he is gradually getting himself familiarized with and that he knows will push her so quickly and so close to the edge. There's a vague notion somewhere in his brain that they must keep quiet because Mom and Dad are getting up soon, and that he'd better make Sarah shut up because Jesus fucking Christ her little noises are so delicious and arousing that he wants to come against her this very second, but before he can cover her mouth with his free hand, he realizes it's he who needs to bite down on his bottom lip to keep himself from groaning at what she is doing. His sweet sister has begun to play with her own nipples with her left hand, while reaching down her right hand and starting to slide her fingers in and out of herself in time with the motion of his fingers on her clit. Quivering from so much stimulation all at the same time, she throws back her head, leans back harder against him and tightens her legs around his, her little moans of pleasure the most wondrous music to his ears. His cock is so hard that it hurts.

"Sarah," Andrew breathes, "what are you doing?"

"I love it when you touch me," she murmurs, "and I love touching myself...I want to come. Am I a bad girl, Andrew?"

How can there be an answer to this question?

As Sarah looks over her shoulder back at him while continuing to touch herself, her eyes glistening in the morning glow, Andrew realizes something powerful and monstrous inside him is desperately seeking an outlet. He wants to do something to her, something so rough and vicious that it would hurt her and make her cry. He actually wants to make her cry. And he knows this is what she wants. To submit and give in, to be degraded and owned. This knowledge is awakening the dormant beast deep inside him, spurring it on, threatening to goad it into a bloodthirsty rampage.

"I've been very bad," turning her head back around, Sarah whispers helplessly, her breath more ragged and the grinding of her hips against his cock more eager as Andrew suddenly increases the pressure of his fingers on her clit purely because he can, "because good girls don't touch themselves or make their brother touch them as I do..." a moan escapes her lips as he bites down on the soft flesh of her neck, licking and sucking it, his breath hot on her perfect skin, "...they don't want their brother to fuck them. And I really want you to fuck me."

"And why do you want me to fuck you, Sarah?"

They're playing a very dangerous game, he knows that. Sarah's fingers on her nipples and in and out of her slit are moving faster, harder, more and more out of control. Andrew can tell by the palpably growing tension of her body and her fast, shallow breath that she is close, very close, and he knows he has the power to push her over the edge whenever he chooses to. He didn't know a girl could be as wet as she is now.

The door of their parents' bedroom from across the hallway cracks open, and the familiar heavy steps of their father emerge into the hallway. As if by a tacit agreement, neither of them is pausing or slowing down their movements. The bathroom light switch is flipped on and water starts to run from the faucet, before the door closes with a bang. Sarah starts to tremble.

"...Is it because my sister is such a pretty little whore who wants to take her brother's cock while their parents are right in the next room? Do you want to come on my cock, Sarah?" He whispers, almost affectionately, to her ear.

And she comes so hard that the sheer force of it leaves him absolutely dumbfounded. He's never seen anything quite like that before, so breathtaking and all-consuming in such a savage, primal way, the pure nakedness, the utter vulnerability of being one's true self and being beside oneself at the same time. Perhaps he is even more stunned by how he just made it happen, how he pushed all the right buttons in her almost on the first try. It finally feels like the hours he has spent on researching what she might be into based on the links she sent him are now paying back, although he was still too insecure and ashamed to admit it when questioned last night. Two weeks ago, he would never have believed that he would hold such power over her, the power that she handed in to him on her knees, much less that he'd know how to use it. But now, as Sarah thrashes and convulses against him, her head thrown back to emit a soundless wail, her hips bucking helplessly from the lingering shock of orgasm, the significance of it all starts to sink in.

They are never going back to being who they were before, and the relationship between them, as well as that between them and the world, will never be the same again, for better or for worse.

Holding her tight against him to soothe and shush her with as much force as he can muster, he rides out the remaining spasms of her body with her as she grabs his hand and bites down hard on his fingers to suppress her noises. Rolling her over so that they now lie face to face and cupping her face in his palms, he starts to kiss her with such intensity and fierceness he didn't know he was capable of. She smells like heaven. Biting, sucking and licking his lips, her tongue twisting with his, Sarah flings one leg over his waist so that her sodden slit is positioned right against his throbbing hard cock, gasping into his mouth as he reaches down again to play with her tender folds.

"Sarah, my God," he murmurs, "you're so wet."

"It's because of you," she whispers before sealing his mouth with another kiss, reaching down and starting to fumble with the waistband of his boxers and trousers. Andrew's heart is hammering so hard in his chest that he's worried it would burst open. Right when she is about to pull his rock-hard cock free from his boxers, he grips her wrist and stops her.

"Sarah, we can't," Andrew is struggling to breathe. The room is lightening up as dawn blossoms outside the window, and he can finally make out how irresistibly beautiful she is, "we can't."

"But I want-"

"No, Sarah, listen to me-"

The door of their parents' bedroom opens again, and Olivia's swift footsteps can be heard in the hallway before they disappear into the bathroom. The twins stop in their track, motionless, their raspy breath the only sound in the quiet of Andrew's room. They can hear the sounds of a conversation and muffled laughter from the bathroom whose door must have been left ajar. Daniel's footsteps emerge from the bathroom again shortly as the door closes behind him, tramp past Andrew's room and down the stairs, and in a minute, the TV in the living room downstairs has been turned on. The sounds of the morning news start to drift up to his room as their father always keeps the volume high, and in the kitchen, the old coffee machine rumbles while the blender shrieks. A car swishes past along the avenue before the house.

Looking up almost with apprehension, Andrew finds Sarah staring at him with big eyes full of such longing that he knows she must be seeing the same in his eyes. Her shirt has been pulled off one shoulder, and the curves of her naked collarbone have a faint glow on them that is making it impossible for him to think straight. His fingers can feel how wet, hot and tight she is. How soft she feels. If he wants to, he can bury the head of his cock into her soaked slit. Just a bit, just a tiny little bit-

As if having sensed his determination crumbling, Sarah grabs and tugs hard, finally pulling his cock free from the constraint of his clothes. Panting heavily, her fingers wrapped tightly around his cock, her eyes closed shut, she guides it slowly to her slit despite his half-hearted attempt at stopping her. He trembles and groans at the sensation of the sensitive head of his cock sliding up and down along her warm, soft wetness, from her still swollen clit to her tight little entrance, back and forth, over and over again. Both of them are shivering, panting hard, teetering on the precipice of an abyss that leads to both heaven and hell, feeling powerful and powerless all at once.

"Sarah-"

He can't recognize his own voice, so croaked and distorted by fear and desire. With a sweet little whimper and a forceful pull, she finally buries a fraction of the tip of his cock inside her.

Andrew's mind is wiped entirely blank. Moaning and shuddering in unison, their movements frozen again, they peer at each other with widened eyes, as if incredulous as to what is happening. Sarah closes her eyes and bites her bottom lip, tightening her grip on his cock, and his heart lurches-

He grabs her wrist and pulls the tip of his cock out of her.

The bathroom door from across the hallway opens, but no footsteps come out. It's only after a while that Olivia turns off the light and leaves the bathroom, her brisk footsteps going down the hallway before disappearing into the sounds from the TV and Daniel's cooking downstairs. The air in his room suddenly feels too thick for him to breathe.

For a moment neither of them moves. It's only when Sarah starts to wriggle against him in protest, trying to free herself from his grip, that he realizes how hard he is clenching her wrist.

"Andrew-"

"Sarah, listen to me," he interrupts her. He has to. It doesn't feel like it's he who is talking, but a grave, alien voice in the void, faraway and detached from himself, "we can't do this. Because once we get started, we can't stop it. I know we can't. There's no turning back. We'd do it all the time, everywhere. That's...that's how much I want you. You're driving me crazy," he swallows, "we'd keep doing it, and get caught, and people would know. People know each other here and it would be a disaster. We could go to jail. We can't do this to Mom and Dad."

Her wriggling quietens down as she raises up her head to stare at him. He knows she is listening. His cock is screaming for release and he strains every nerve inside him to ignore it, stuffing it back into his boxers and pulling his waistband up with excessive force and frustration.

"So what? We're just supposed to be saints?" She sounds helpless, and it's harrowing for him to hear her like this when she is always so strong and assertive. It makes him feel helpless too. But he has thought this through and needs her to know that.

"We can get out of here next year when we leave for university. We can go to a big city where no one knows us. People come and go and your neighbor would never find out your name after twenty years living in the same building, much less whom or what you are fucking as long as you leave his dog alone."

Sarah lets out a little laugh that makes his heart melt. He kisses her gently, and she kisses him back, her fingers stroking his hair slowly. It feels unreal.

"But which city...?"

It's only with this question that it suddenly occurs to Andrew that they haven't even properly talked about the future. What are her aspirations? What are his? What are they going to do with their lives? What would happen if they make this choice or that? It's all too daunting to contemplate, future, an overwhelming yet inescapable weight crushing down on them harder and harder with each passing second. Time waits for no one.

"I don't know. I just know..."

"That we will be free," Sarah whispers.

Andrew stares down at her in wonder. She leans in and kisses him again, her lips warm and soft, tinged with the fragrance of her breath.

"What time is it?"

Andrew twists his body around awkwardly to fish his phone out from under his pillow and glances at it, "six-forty. We're supposed to go down in twenty minutes."

"Do you think I can make you come in twenty minutes?"

Andrew's breath catches in his chest. Kicking aside the covers, pulling a little away from him, Sarah starts to rid herself of her shirt and skirt, leaving her entire body naked save for her knee socks, her blond hair as thick and smooth as the finest silk. Andrew watches her, enthralled. He thinks he has never seen anything as beautiful before.

"Sarah," he murmurs, his voice husky, "you're killing me."

Pressing another kiss onto his lips, she rolls over, sits up and straddles him, her wetness pressing tightly down against his cock. She is staring down at him with deep, dark eyes, her naked body in the dim light as luscious as a marble nymph. She is so perfect, from her delicate neck and collarbones, to the voluptuous curves of her plump breasts, her slender waist and the faintly visible lines of muscles on her lean stomach, her lovely blond hair, fluffy and luxuriant, tumbling down her small shoulders, the soft morning light glimmering on her flawless skin as if on supreme velvet. Panting heavily, Andrew props himself up on his elbows, grumbling as she starts to rock her hips back and forth at a steady pace against his hard cock. He literally shudders under her as she cups her naked tits in her hands and starts to play with her hardened nipples, throwing her head back and closing her eyes shut, moaning with abandon. Blood is roaring so furiously in his ears that for a moment he can only hear his frenzied pulse. He can feel how hot and wet she is even through the fabric of his clothes, and the friction of her movements against his cock, combined with the amazing scene before his eyes, feels like the sweetest torture he can ever conceive of.

Jolting his torso up with a groan until his face is pressed against her naked breasts, Andrew grabs her hips with both hands to guide her up and down, making her movements against his cock harder and faster, his teeth and tongue teasing her sensitive nipples, drawing more delicious moans out of her lips. She responds by grabbing the hair on the back of his head and presses him tighter against her, and without his hinting, she reaches her right hand down and starts to rub her clit again while keeping on riding him through his trousers.

"Make me come again, please," she begs, biting her lips and twisting her body, the glowing skin on her cheeks and her neck flushing crimson, "I want some more...I want you to come with me."

"So eager," he murmurs, squeezing her hard nipple between his teeth, staring up at her as she whimpers from pain and arousal, "look at yourself. So beautiful when you blush like this. Such a pretty little slut."

If he was worried that he would go too far with these words, his worry has been proven unnecessary by how faster Sarah is moving her hips or how louder her moans become upon hearing them. It finally starts to feel like he can get the hang of this, trying out different things and gauging her reactions, neither too slowly nor too hastily, but just for her at just the right pace. Meanwhile, had he not been attempting to distract himself, he would have already come several times by now. But now, with her wetness grinding relentlessly against his cock, her hardened nipples in his mouth and her little noises growing louder and louder in his ears, Andrew finally stops resisting the inevitable. He moans into her breasts as he comes hard against her, and she leans down, biting down on his lips, her fingers moving frantically on her clit. It only takes a few more seconds for her legs to quiver and the rocking of her hips to lose control, orgasm roaring through her like a tidal wave, leaving her gasping and spasming desperately in its wake. Taking her into his arms as she whimpers into his mouth and collapses on top of him, Andrew kisses her hair on her cheeks drenched by sweat, holding her tight.

"Are you alright?" he breathes, pulling her away and observing her, worried in a way he can't put his fingers on. Colors still high in her cheeks, her eyes gleaming, Sarah giggles and kisses him on the lips, moving her hips again lazily against his spent cock, making him grunt in protest.

"Never been better. You'd better get your panties changed."

"So says the naked lady."

"Guess neither of us is very presentable now for Dad's breakfast table."

"Much less side by side."

The intrusion of reality on their sprouting intimacy feels as abrupt and ruthless as the shattering of a dream. Sarah gazes at him with a hopeless air incongruous with her confident self, her features tinged with suppressed anger. She is not used to not having what she is determined to have, especially when all her past experience has been confirming her belief that no goals are unattainable with enough willpower and effort. Less optimistic and impulsive, Andrew unexpectedly finds himself to be the voice of reason this time, his natural cautiousness and discretion reinforced by his role of the shy, mild yet reliable sibling providing them with a protection, however flimsy, against the overriding power of desire.

Andrew can tell Sarah doesn't like it at all. But maybe for once, she has to learn to compromise as everybody else does.

"Sarah, listen...there's something we need to do."

"What is it?"

He wavers a little as Sarah frowns despite herself, but manages to find his voice again by reminding himself that he is not the only one at stake.

"We should...we should try to spend as little time together as possible before Mom and Dad."

"What the hell does that mean? So, let me get this straight, we can't fuck, OK I get it, it's sick and gross anyway. But this? We can't even-"

Despite her best attempt at lowering her voice, Sarah is practically bristling with rage. It's such torture for him to face any form of confrontation, especially with his strong-willed sister. Usually evading her altogether whenever she gets too worked up over something, he is now struggling to breathe properly as fear and anxiety threaten to take over and silence him once and for all. But this time, this is what they must do together, and he needs her on his side.

"Sarah, think about it. They're our parents, and quite attentive ones at that. Do you honestly think they can't tell if something is off? That something being as huge as their children are nearly fucking?"

It is as if a bucket of icy water had been poured down over Sarah's head. It's disheartening for Andrew to see his usually proud, unyielding sister so helpless, to see himself so helpless, but his throat tightens and he can't find anything else to say. Dropping his head, he suddenly feels a childish urge to cry. Sarah turns her face away, biting down hard on her bottom lip, her hands balling into fists on either side of her body.

"I don't like it - why it has to be so hard? Why it has to be so fucking complicated?"

"Sarah, please. Once we get out of here, we can do whatever we want. Just a bit more patience. That's all I'm asking for. Please, think of Mom and Dad," he didn't know he could sound so desperate.

"Who the fuck cares!"

Jumping off the bed and grabbing her clothes scattered about on the floor, Sarah storms out of his room without a backward glance, slamming the door shut behind her. Slumping back down onto his bed, Andrew curls up and closes his eyes slowly, feeling as if his heart had been ripped into pieces.


	6. Chapter 6

"Oh, hi morning sunshine!" Daniel says when Sarah enters the kitchen freshly washed and dressed, without looking up from his phone, "slept well last night?"

"Yeah, fine. Why?"

Sarah's heart skips a beat at Daniel's question. She puts down her backpack at the feet of the table, steps up to open the cupboard and takes out a clean glass, glancing quickly back at the messy breakfast table strewn with opened jars and pots and unfinished food, making sure she has what she needs over there.

"Nothing, just saw your light's on when we came back. That was pretty late."

"Oh, yeah, I fell asleep with my light on," she puts on her best dismissive face, "was doing exercises for the competition. Mom's left?" she asks in an attempt to change the subject.

"Yep, big project, tight deadline, that sort of things. Don't get into accounting like your mother did, for Christ's sake. People like my daughter get to choose," Daniel lays down his phone and stuffs a spoonful of yogurt into his mouth, smiling approvingly at his daughter. A bearish man in his fifties with a hefty build acquired over the years as a byproduct of his hearty nature and good taste in food cultivated more as a creed than as a domestic duty, Daniel never shies away from expressing his approval for his children. With his hair still as dense and lush as in his younger years and his clear light brown eyes, he looks so much like Andrew, although Sarah then realizes with unease that it should be the other way around.

"No thanks, I'm not selling my soul to corporate greed. And now you're turning your daughter into your marriage counsel, wow, real mature, Dad," evading his eyes, Sarah sits down opposite her father, pouring milk from an opened carton into her glass and reaching for the strawberry jam and the toaster. Sarah suspects that Daniel quit his job to take care of Andrew and her after they were born so that their mother could concentrate on her career, but she never asked out of a strange sort of pride. If anything, she feels closer to her father than to her mother, but is somehow ashamed to admit that.

"Aren't I?" Daniel says proudly, "that's why Livie fell in love with me. A real mature man at fifteen."

Sarah rolls her eyes but can't help smiling. Her parents were high school sweethearts against all odds, and are still going out on weekly date nights after nearly forty years together. Sarah thinks herself too cool to care for her parents' love life in the same way she scoffs at her peers' romantic fantasies, but if she is being honest with herself, she also longs for the safety of lifelong love and intimacy so exemplified by them as everyone else does. The thought of Andrew flickers in her mind, and her heart twists in myriad feelings too complicated and intense for her to even begin to understand.

"Where's your brother?" Daniel asks as if on cue.

"Don't know," she shrugs with a careless air, taking a bite of her toast. Her heart is thumping fast in her chest.

"Oh well, guess he'll turn up," Daniel doesn't seem to be paying more attention to it as he goes back to reading on his phone. Finishing her breakfast absently, Sarah finds herself more and more anxious as Andrew's absence lengthens.

She knows that she was unjustified in losing her temper when all he was trying to do was to protect them. Her unreasonableness and selfishness must have hurt him. Scolding herself yet again for her inability to rein in her impulse, Sarah struggles to fight back the urge to cry. She is just so frustrated, so desperate, and so angry at herself. The privilege of being able to express love and affection publicly, to fulfill their desire for each other that so many people take for granted is yet utterly unreachable to them...it hurts so much to even think about the unfairness of it all.

"I should go," pushing her dish aside, trying to keep her voice even, Sarah rises to her feet, picks up her backpack and starts to make her way towards the front door, her face turned away from her father, "see you this evening, Dad."

"You're not waiting for Andrew?"

No sooner have the words left Daniel's lips than Andrew appears in the kitchen. A quick glance in his direction, and Sarah has to turn back around to steady her breath. He is dressed in his everyday uniform, his face blank and pale, his hair disheveled, and she would never forget the way he gazes at her, so full of longing and hurt. Perhaps he is right. Perhaps the best thing to do is just to keep her distance. Opening the door before her and trying to suppress the tight knot in her throat, Sarah closes her eyes, taking a deep, long breath.

"No, I've got a group presentation, wanna go through it one last time before the class. Bye."

She doesn't look back.

* * *

"So, this guy, he literally shat himself, because he was getting spanked so hard and it just exploded-"

"Max, please," Andrew says desperately, "no one wants to watch videos of guys shitting themselves at lunch."

"They're not shitting themselves at lunch, they're shitting themselves playing truth or dare, which is an important distinction."

"Oh, shut up."

Slapping his tray down onto the table in the school's crowded canteen at lunchtime, Andrew sits down with a sigh. The crushing weight that has been hanging in the pit of his stomach since Sarah stormed out of his room this morning isn't lessening in the slightest, much less with his friend Max pestering him as usual as if nothing was wrong. Is this what the throes of passion are about? The same ones that have obsessed poets and philosophers since time immemorial? He doesn't feel like glorying in their promise of elevating his emotions to an artistic and intellectual height. He only hates himself and wants her back.

Max sits down opposite him with his own tray, shoving his phone into his pocket, grinning from ear to ear.

"That curry though," he points at the content in Andrew's plate with his fork, "it reminds me of-"

"Shut up!"

Flinging a grape from his dessert cup at Max's chubby face, Andrew makes a disgusted sound and grimaces as Max bends over and reaches down to pick the grape up from the floor and throw it into his mouth.

"Five seconds rule," Max chews and slurs, satisfied, "I was quick."

"You're disgusting."

"Stop acting like a chick, Andy," Max knows how much Andrew hates it when people call him Andy, "you picked the wrong person to hang out with, and now the joke's on you."

"I'm pretty sure I started out alright," Andrew fiddles with his salad absently with his fork.

"No, you didn't," Max shovels a forkful of spaghetti into his mouth, the watery tomato sauce splashing all over his chin, "let's face it, you're just as much of a weirdo. Even more so today."

"What?"

"You're acting weird today."

"What are you talking about?"

Come on, Andrew. You woke up with your naked sister on your bed and made her come twice before she lost her shit and started to yell at you, and now she hates you more than she does anyone else on earth. Oh, and you bombed your Philosophy exam as expected. Of course you're entitled to acting a little weird today.

Max pauses suddenly, leaning in and scrutinizing him. Andrew recoils uncomfortably.

"You're in love," Max says, narrowing his eyes.

"The fuck Max! Go back to your Grindr!" he is blushing so hard he's sure his face is dripping blood.

"See, the problem with people like you," an accusatory dab of his fork in Andrew's direction and a disapproving pout, "is that you don't think gay people function in the same way as you straight people do. You don't believe that we too have our own love stories, so you think we are only some comical ornament for your wanky, cheesy straight ones. But never mind. Oh yeah, I can see it, crystal clear and all over your face. You're not in love. You're besotted and smitten and madly want to fuck."

"Do we really have to make everything so political?" Andrew says hopelessly. He hasn't even touched his main course yet and is already feeling fed up.

"Everything is political, my friend. You're purposefully ignoring my diagnosis. So, tell me, who is she, the girl who stole your heart?"

"Andrew?"

Startled, Andrew raises his head to find a girl with a tray in her hands standing right next to his seat and smiling down at him. The expression on Max's face is priceless.

"Oh, hi," Andrew almost chokes on his food, his face burning, "hi, Carla."

"Haven't seen you for a while! Are you going to participate in the photography competition?"

She is still so enthusiastic and forthright with her neat little braids, round glasses and tidy navy-blue sweater, perhaps a bit too much for his current state of mind. But at this stage of acquaintance, he is only grateful that she isn't bursting out laughing before he can squeeze out a coherent sentence as other girls do.

"Um...yeah, I guess so. I'm just trying to come up with an idea."

To be fair, this more serious venturing into photography on his part has been met with enthusiasm at home. His parents applauded his initiative predictably, and Olivia particularly hinted at the possibility of socializing more with his peers, in other words, girls, given how shy he was with them. Of course, his mother was more subtle than that. "People with shared interests turn out to be more similar and compatible in general too, you should know," she said carefully, "not that there aren't exceptions." But Andrew has the perhaps unjustified vague impression that deep down inside they still brush off his interests as unimportant and frivolous, as he always feels like they were much more excited when Sarah was selected to be part of the school's math competition team. She's got so much potential, they say. A degree in math from a prestigious university will open so many doors she can choose from at will, they say. No one mentions Andrew with his stupid little photographs of cows and chickens and his dream of writing for newspapers and journals bound to be outdated by online media. But he can't forget how proud of him Sarah looked the next day when she told him she was glad for him and wanted him to tell her when he would have got an idea, nor can he deny that it made his heart swell with so much happiness and gratitude. Andrew pinches himself hard on the arm. Better not to think about it now.

"Me too. It's hard to find, isn't it, inspiration?" Carla continues cheerfully, unheeding, "I finally got something. Actually, this Saturday I'm going to the animal farm on the outskirts, near the city park, cause they must have animals I can take photos of for the competition. Do you want to come with me?"

Max's jaw literally drops, his eyes flitting back and forth between Carla and his friend, a huge grin on his face. Andrew tries his best to ignore him.

"Sure, I guess why not," he says, nodding awkwardly. He doesn't really know why he is saying yes. Perhaps he just needs to run away from Sarah, from the mess in which they find themselves ensnarled, so that he can have some space to breathe and think, even if only for a little bit. Perhaps he just wants to.

"Great! Let's change our phone numbers and I'll give you the details. What do you say?"

Putting her tray carefully down on the table as Andrew scrambles to make room for it, she takes out her phone from her pocket, and saves Andrew's phone number on it.

"Just sent you a message."

"Alright," he mumbles, secretly wishing to strangle Max as the latter keeps on smirking at him, "thanks."

"Gotta go. See you around!"

Carla disappears into the crowd. Looking up at him, Max emits the most grotesque noise Andrew has heard him make ever since they knew each other at twelve.

"I swear to God, Max-"

"Andrew Larrison," Max murmurs dreamily to himself, "in love. With a brunette beauty! Oh, so beautiful! So eager to please him with her big boobs and butt and farm animals! Andrew, you're finally not turning into a wizard!"

Andrew has to remind himself that it's better that Max believes this instead of discovering what is really going on to prevent himself from smashing Max's head right there against the table.

* * *

Glancing up for the umpteenth time at the clock on the wall in five minutes, Sarah finally turns around and frowns at the math competition teammate seated behind her.

"You know what's happening? Why isn't Mrs. Willington showing up yet?"

"Don't know," Connie shrugs, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. She is a swarthy Asian girl with thick bangs, fake eyelashes and a vivid pink hairband, who won first place in last year's provincial competition, "got lost? Had a car accident? Son's in emergency? Diarrhea? Found out husband's cheating on her so is on a transcontinental call with her lawyer? All of these are statistically possible, you know."

"No wonder you're so good at statistics, then."

Connie flashes her a big fake smile.

"I think you're jealous, but I'll take it as a compliment. Math girls aren't catty bitches, cause we smart, are we?"

"No, we're not," Sarah mutters, keeping the thought 'but are sure as hell all freaks who either only wear pink or are trying to fuck their brother' to herself, "we should go home if she still doesn't show up in five minutes. I don't have time for this."

"Relax, Sarah. You'll grow wrinkles if you keep being so uptight like this," Connie drops her tone dramatically, "careful because white people age like bananas."

"This is so racist."

"Welcome to my world."

The handful of other students in the classroom are also murmuring among themselves in the face of their math tutor's unusual tardiness. Some of them have taken out their phones, while others are doing exercises from the books they have brought with them. The buzz in the classroom is growing louder when the door is abruptly pulled open, and Mrs. Willington charges into the room with exercise sheets under her arm. A sturdy woman in her fifties, she is wearing a gray cardigan, red-rimmed square glasses and a white fluffy sweater, looking very spirited.

"Alright kids," she sing-songs, "sorry I'm late, got caught up in some paperwork because why do anything useful at all when you can spend your day filling out forms that only end up in trash bins? Ok, let's welcome our new team member, whom I'm sure some of you already know from the school's sports events. On top of that, he's scored perfect marks in the last three math exams, and is now excited for more challenges I'm sure he'll find here! Because you're such a star, aren't you, Percy?"

"No one can score perfect marks. It must be a fraud," Connie murmurs resentfully under her breath behind Sarah.

Turning her head around and beaming dotingly, Mrs. Willington beckons to Percival Morse standing at the door to come in. Flashing a charismatic smile and raising up one hand as if to respond to the imaginary applause and cheers as in a sports event when actually there are only blank stares and slightly raised eyebrows, Percival Morse is a perfect contrast to the nerdy type of which consists the bulk of the math competition team around him. It isn't hard for him to spot Sarah among the few students in the room, who has trained with him as a teammate of the school's indoor track and field team. With a skillful tilt of the head that signals a popular male's interest in a female he considers fortunate to receive such special treatment, Percy approaches Sarah and sits down in an empty seat beside her purposefully.

"Hey Sarah," he asks briskly, not looking at her, and Sarah has to admit he is indeed very charming with the impressive muscles under his uniform shirt, his dark hair and emerald eyes as well as the carefully angled smile on his handsome face, "what's up?"

Sarah doesn't give him any reply except for a short nod as Mrs. Willington starts to distribute this session's exercises. It seems to Sarah that guys like Percival Morse tend to believe that they are the center of the universe or somewhere pretty close to it, and it repulses her on some fundamental level. Evolutionary psychology is such pure rubbish, she thinks ironically. Melissa is going to lose her shit again, though.

"Hey, you've got a minute after the training? I've something more interesting than parallelogram to ask you," not having received the response he expected, Percy finally turns his head around and asks Sarah in a casual tone.

"Quiet!" Connie hisses.

Sarah gives him a nod before turning back to her exercises.

"Yeah, guess why not."

Percy beams, "cool."

She has been feeling awful the whole day from chiding herself for being such a selfish jerk. The last sight of Andrew before she left home has been haunting her relentlessly, no matter how hard she tries to evade or suppress it. She had never seen anyone looking as despondent as he did before, and it's so much worse when she was the culprit of it. Going about her day has been impossible with all the feelings she harbors towards him that are the most amazing synergy of all forms of love, the mad desire to run into his arms and hold him tight until everything is alright again, and the stifling sense of guilt and fear pressing down on her and whispering to her that now it's all over. The mere thought of him feels like torture. The swaggering, self-complacent Percival Morse and his little tricks are nothing more than a distraction at a convenient moment, she tells herself - and a bad one at that.

Forcing herself to concentrate on the arcane symbols and numbers on the exercise sheet, Sarah is surprised to find how fast time flows when one is fully immersed in a mentally demanding task. By the time she hands in the answer sheet as the third to finish the exercises (Connie is always the first one) to Mrs. Willington, she is already feeling much calmer.

"Very good, Ms. Larrison," Mrs. Willington grabs her answer sheet in one swift movement, smiling warmly up at her, "same tutorial hours in my office if you feel like dropping by. I'll send you all the answers and explanations tonight."

"Alright. Thanks."

"You're welcome. Oh Percy, how did it go?" The excited tilt in her voice makes Sarah turn around to find Percy walking up to them, beaming with confidence.

"Wasn't too sure about the eighth question? Couldn't crack the last one, either. But otherwise pretty cool, I guess."

"Oh, don't worry about that," Mrs. Willington says indulgently, "do come to the tutorials in my office if you have any questions - but I doubt you need to!"

"An excuse for having an interesting conversation with a charming lady, why not," he smiles brightly at Mrs. Willington, who looks as if she was going to have a heart attack from ecstasy. Sarah rolls her eyes inwardly.

"Hi Sarah," Percy suddenly turns to her, his tone cheery, "grab your bag and let's get going, what do you think?"

Sarah shrugs but obliges.

The hallway is dark and empty at this hour of the day, and Sarah keeps her distance from Percy defensively as they walk down the stairs. Starting with some harmless anecdotes of the extracurriculars they both partake in, Percy gradually guides the conversation to the more personal and relatable aspect of his life, making it easy and comfortable for her to carry it on. Sarah has to admit that he is quite a good conversationalist. Quick, attentive and considerate, he doesn't seem like the stereotypical arrogant asshole she thought he was. Or perhaps he is just really good at pretending to be someone he isn't, Sarah thinks, reminding herself to keep her guard up as they exit the building and head for the school's main gate across the front yard.

"I didn't see you the other day at the group dinner after the sprint training - everything alright?"

"Yeah, just needed to be home early. Got so much to do."

"Like everyone else here. But hey, don't be so strung up all the time. Girls like you deserve a good time."

"Girls like me?" Sarah can't help scoffing. Percy doesn't seem to mind.

"Come on Sarah, you don't need me to tell you that. You're smart and hardworking, just downright exceptional. On top of that you're pretty," he grins as Sarah blushes, "you are just so good at everything you do, and take it from me, girls like you are rare. It's a shame if you don't allow yourself to relax once in a while. OK, so this is what I wanted to ask you: I'm gonna throw a party this Saturday at my house, and I really want you to come," he raises one finger and wags it preemptively, "no no no, no excuse about unfinished projects or assignments or that sort of bullshit. You come, you have a good time, and you go home. Bring your friend, that little brunette taking photos at the training the other day? Melissa?"

"Yeah, Mel. She writes for the school's newspaper."

"Right, bring her along too. Deal?"

They have stopped at the school's main gate. Percy is going to take his car in the parking lot near the gate, while Sarah will be turning to a side street where the bus stop is located. She vaguely remembers that people have been talking about how crazy and fun his parties are in his palatial house and how rich and absent his divorced father is.

Sarah would have been lying to herself if she didn't feel thoroughly flattered by such genuine-sounding compliments from a guy like Percival Morse. It's true that she thought him self-important and superficial, but damn, it would be the biggest lie in the world if she denied that she also wanted to impress people, to be accepted, recognized and validated, especially by smart smoking-hot guys like Percy. Does that make her a hypocrite? Sarah thinks glumly, but before she can give it more thought, Percy spins around and peers down at her, expectant.

"Deal, Sarah?"

Sarah feels a surge of thrill. A weak voice in the back of her head warns her that she shouldn't use this as an excuse to avoid Andrew, but she decides to ignore it.

"Deal."

She touches her fist to his as Percy's smile deepens, his captivating green eyes twinkling in the dim light of the night.

"Good girl."


End file.
